Consequences of Redemption
by bobbirose
Summary: When Draco makes an impromptu decision to rescue Harry Potter from Malfoy Manor, the two find themselves completely alone and facing the looming climax of the war against Voldemort. Harry must start from the beginning with Draco-and starting over has more consequences than either of them anticipated. H/D pairing
1. Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

"Well, Draco?"

Lucius Malfoy's voice was high, breathy and excited, directly above Harry. It was almost indecent, the amount of anticipation smothering the elder Malfoy's tone.

Harry's heart was sinking fast, his stomach already bottomed out and blood already gone cold.

His vision was distorted, his glasses knocked askew by Hermione's spell, but he was himself. He was certain Draco would recognize him, but he forced himself not to look at Draco's face, not watch the blond approach them slowly. He started forming an escape plan, maybe something involving blowing out the floor, his brain not even listening to Draco's triumphant recognition.

But Draco didn't speak. There was no relishing voice ringing out, proud and certain and smug. There was no "yes, that's Potter," that followed. Just a tense silence, everyone holding their breath and focusing on Draco.

"Is it? Is it Harry Potter?" Lucius prompted, and Draco snapped out of his silence.

"I can't—" he began, and Harry heard Hermione's breath catch behind him. "I can't be sure," he finished, voice shaking and breaking on the last word.

"But look at him carefully, look! Come closer!" Lucius grabbed his son's arm and steered him towards Harry, who looked up. Draco's translucent gray eyes latched onto his and Harry's heart clenched as he saw the unmistakable light of recognition in Draco's eyes, before it was masked by fear and dread. No doubt Draco knew who was kneeling in front of him, but as he stared, the only thing he saw was absolute panic in Draco's face.

* * *

><p>There was silence then, from both the cellar and upstairs, broken only by the footsteps echoing on the ceiling ahead, marking Wormtail's advance.<p>

"We're going to have to try and tackle him," Harry whispered to Ron, and the latter nodded, his gaze set firmly at the door in front of him.

"Stand back," came Wormtail's voice, and Harry sucked in a breath.

He opened the door, and Harry and Ron were on him in a flash.

He hit the floor with a decisive thud, and Harry clamped a hand down on his mouth while his other hand struggled to wrestle Wormtail's wand from his sweaty grip. The enchanted silver hand reached up and found Harry's throat, closing tightly and Harry gasped and sputtered.

"What is it, Wormtail?" Lucius called.

"Nothing!" Ron improvised, imitating Wormtail. "All fine!"

"You're going to kill me?" Harry choked. "You owe me!"

Wormtail looked stricken, but it was nothing compared to the look he had when the silver fingers slackened, making Harry cough and gasp, and started moving towards his own throat.

Ron bounded ahead, but turned back to motion Harry furiously forward.

Harry was busy trying to pry the fingers off of Wormtail's windpipe, as the beady eyes beneath him pleaded for help. Ron raced back and tried to help, even pulling out his wand, but a dreadful scream overhead from Hermione caused them to abandon their task, Ron bounding ahead of Harry as Wormtail's body collapsed behind him.

They ran along the hallway, as carefully and quietly as possible, and peeked into the doorway. Ron whimpered at the sight of Hermione, lying in the middle of the room, motionless and pale.

"And I think," Bellatrix was saying, her eyes wide in delight as she swooped around to face Hermione, "we can dispose of the Mudblood. Greyback, take her if you want her."

"NO!"

Ron had practically roared as he burst into the room, Harry right behind him. Bellatrix whirled around, but Ron Disarmed her before she had a chance to say a single syllable. Harry ran and caught her wand, the rest of the room just now getting full comprehension of what was happening. Lucius Malfoy fired a Stunning Spell at Harry, who ducked and shot one back, almost hitting him in the chest.

Spells were being fired from every wand now except from Draco, who Harry just barely noticed was standing frozen in the middle, looking like his mind was reeling.

Harry decided against Stunning him, out of what he supposed was pure fairness, when a demanding shriek rang through the room.

"STOP OR SHE DIES!"

Everyone froze and whipped around to face Bellatrix, who was supporting an unconscious Hermione by her hair and arm, a small silver dagger held at her throat.

"Drop your wands," she whispered. "Drop them, or we'll see exactly how filthy her blood is!"

Harry was still, mind going momentarily slow. For one ludicrous moment, he imagined he was in one of the big standoff scenes in every Muggle action film, lowering his wand as he glanced at Ron, who hadn't moved.

"I said, _drop them!_" she screeched, pressing her blade a little farther into Hermione's throat until a few beads of blood appeared at the tip.

"Alright!" Ron yelled, his wand immediately falling from his hand. Harry followed suit, raising his hands instinctively instead.

"Good!" she exclaimed breathlessly, seeming to relax a bit as the control swung back into her favor. "Draco, pick them up! The Dark Lord is coming, Harry Potter! Your death approaches!"

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Harry felt his scar explode into sharp pain, making him stagger backwards from the blinding sensation.

He saw stormy seas, and someone rapidly approaching a shoreline. He was coming.

His vision cleared as Bellatrix turned to Draco, who hadn't moved, despite her earlier demand.

"Draco," she said sharply, "Pick their wands up!"

Draco's head snapped up to her as if she had screamed at him, and gave a short nod.

Harry watched him, his eyes flickering between helplessness and stony anger. Draco glanced at something beyond Harry and his steps faltered, but no one but Harry seemed to notice.

He stopped in front of Harry and held his gaze for a second, and Harry saw some sort of resolve form, clouding his fear, and perhaps his better judgment.

"Hurry up, boy!" Bellatrix snapped, and Draco bent down and picked up her wand.

And Harry swore he must be hallucinating.

For there was no way that _Draco Malfoy_ just winked at him.

Draco spun around, holding Bellatrix's wand aloft.

"STUPEFY!" he screamed, and Bellatrix's shout of shock was cut short by the red jet of light from Draco as it hit her in the stomach.

"Weasley—Granger—go!" he shouted, firing another Stunning spell at a wildly confused but still aggressive Greyback.

Narcissa screamed as she understood what was happening, holding out her hands as Lucius lunged at Draco and Harry.

Harry had a fleeting vision of Ron running towards the collapsed Hermione and—_Dobby_—before he turned his head to see Draco reach towards him.

Harry dimly registered Draco grabbing Harry's arm before his already unsteady breath was sucked from him, turning the world black and blurry.

_Apparation_, he thought, and tried to scream, or struggle, but Draco's grip was desperate and vice-like on Harry's arm, and Harry found himself completely immobilized.

In a split second, his feet touched ground and he was thrown off of his feet, slamming into the grass and dirt that had materialized beneath him. He barely noticed the chill of the wind on his face or the sound of waves crashing somewhere behind him, but he did notice the other erratic breath pattern beside him, and he whipped his head around to find a pale and shaking Draco Malfoy getting unsteadily to his feet.

"Malfoy—" Harry began, but he was completely unsure of what to demand.

"I'm not taking you back so you can die rescuing your friends," Draco said defiantly, the decisiveness of his voice in heavy contrast to the look of shock on his face.

"You rescued me," Harry realized fully, his eyes widening in surprise and confusion.

"I—yeah," Draco answered, exhaling and running a hand through his hair. He glanced at Harry and pulled out his wand, and Harry jerked back instinctively.

"You've still got some of that Stinging Jinx on you," Draco explained, and muttered "_Finite incantatem"_ to himself. Harry felt the faint stinging in his face vanish completely, and raised a tentative hand to feel his features, finding them restored to normal.

"Right," Harry said, standing up and beginning to pace back and forth, Draco watching him warily. "I'm going back. Ron and Hermione," he said, by way of explanation, and turned to Draco.

"You—you can come with me," he continued to ramble, "You can say it was—an accident or something—"

"Potter, it was clear what I was doing! I was helping you escape! Everyone saw that!" Draco protested, his eyes going wide with fear again.

"Ron and Hermione—"

"—Are fine," Draco interjected, desperate. "I Stunned Aunt Bellatrix, Weasley was running for Granger when I—when we—Disapparated. Dobby was right behind us, I saw him when I went to get your wand. This wasn't as impromptu as you think," he finished, and Harry blinked.

"You planned this?" Harry asked, disbelieving. Draco hesitates.

"Not bad for 30 seconds, is it?"

"Malf—Draco," Harry said slowly, and Draco blinked at the use of his first name. "You have…_no idea_ what you've done."

"Don't think so, _Potter_?" Draco snapped. "You think I betray my family and the Dark Lord every other Tuesday? Do I look like a risk taker to you?"

"It's just…" Harry began, feeling faintly nauseous over the enormity of what had just happened. "You're on the run now, Draco. You're probably wanted dead, you're probably being _looked for_, do you even know anything—"

"I KNOW!" Draco roared, and Harry fell silent. "You were going to die," Draco chokes out finally, and Harry stares at him in amazement.

"I thought that was what you wanted," Harry said.

"It was never what I wanted," Draco shot back, glaring at Harry. "I thought it was, but I—I never really _thought _about it until...well, all of a sudden I'm a Death Eater and I have to—to do these things. And I never wanted it. I don't want it."

Harry was stunned into silence, and Draco didn't seem to notice. He watched as the blond ran a shaky hand through his hair, the strands coming away from their strict hairstyle to fall in front of Draco's eyes.

The waves crashing somewhere around them were too loud in Harry's ears as he stared, trying to think of something to say.

"Well, at least when you dishonor your entire family tree you go all out," he said finally, laughing weakly. Draco gaped at him.

Harry then realized that he probably should proceed to be more tactful during Draco's identity crisis, and was about to stammer out an apology when Draco _laughed_. He laughed until he almost fell over, gasping out breaths as Harry stared at him in alarm, wondering if Draco had gone insane.

"_Merlin_," Draco breathed when he could speak again, a faint grin still on his face. "I just rescued Harry Potter. _Fuck_."

"Well, thank you," Harry finally said, a bit thickly. Draco snorted in response.

"You're welcome, Potty."

Harry turned to face the shoreline, squinting his eyes in the bright sunlight that suddenly faced him. "Where are we?"

"France," Draco answered casually, and Harry raised his eyebrows at him. "I'm not exactly sure what city. I haven't been here in…12 years, give or take."

"What's here?"

"Nothing now," Draco said, marching up the edge of the grassy cliff. "Our family villa was torn down many years ago. It was the first place I thought of."

"We should leave," Harry said quickly.

Draco looked around at him, his mouth open as if he were going to protest, but Harry cut him off.

"This seems like a place they'd expect you to go. We can't be here." Harry said firmly, and Draco nodded, resigned.

Harry was again struck with a strange desire to say something, words of comfort or solidarity, but he pushed it down and instead wordlessly walked up to Draco, grabbed his wrist and Disapparated.

It was faintly raining when they landed on the wet shores of another beach, and Draco instinctively brought his hands up to shield his hair from the moisture.

The sky was dark with angry storm clouds, but the sea next to them was calm in contrast, the rolling gray waves crashing smoothly onto the shore.

The sand dunes above led up to a sand plateau that stretched on interrupted until the cottage in the middle of it, and Draco assumed automatically that this is where Harry meant to end up.

"Where are we?" he asked.

"Shell Cottage," Harry answered, seemingly looking around for someone to come and help. "Bill and Fleur Weasley live here, it's where I told Dobby to take everyone."

Draco nodded, trying to ignore the knot of anxiety forming somewhere between his lungs and followed Harry as they both made their way towards the cottage. Before they had even crossed to the sand dunes, however, a tall blonde figure in a simple blue dress burst out of the cottage and started running towards them, and Harry raised his arms in greeting.

"'ARRY!" The woman nearly screamed in relief, running somehow incredibly elegantly on the wet sand and embracing Harry.

Up close, Draco immediately recognized her as Fleur Delacour, and would be even more stunned by her beauty now than he was in fourth year if it weren't for the wave of panic he could feel rising up in him again as she turned her icy blue gaze onto him.

"Draco Malfoy?" she asked, even though he could tell she knew who he was.

Draco nodded, unsure of what to say, but Harry cut into whatever reply he was formulating.

"He got me out of the Manor," he explained, shooting Draco a look that seemed like he still didn't dare to believe his own declaration.

"'e rescued you?" she asked Harry, staring shamelessly at Draco, her voice a whisper and her eyes wide with disbelief.

"Yeah, that's about where I am right now." Harry replied, a rueful smile on his face. Draco suppressed the urge to roll his eyes.

"Well, come inside, quickly! We 'ave much to discuss. Bill is with 'Ermione upstairs…I think you should see 'er."

Draco glanced at Harry, who had momentarily stilled, and saw his face filled with worry.

"She'll be okay," he whispered before he could think, and Harry's head snapped up to look at him, traces of surprise on his face.

"I hope so," he replied blankly after a moment, and they both resolved to follow Fleur back to the house in silence.

Once they were inside, Draco had a fleeting vision of a modern yet cozy beach house interior before both Harry and Draco found themselves pressed up against the wall on opposite sides of the doorframe.

Draco blinked in surprise, and then tensed when he found his face only inches from the oldest Weasley, his shoulder-length red hair falling to his shoulders and hanging around his face like a curtain and giving Draco the distinct smell of sea salt and shampoo. The scar that he had attained last year stuck out on his face as his teeth were bared, and Draco's heart pumped cold blood into his veins as he stared back at the animalistic expression.

He was aware of the point of a wand pressing into his ribcage, and he squeezed his eyes shut and barely held back a whimper as he realized no one was stopping him.

His wand was yanked out of his hand and he let it be taken, twisting his head around to see Harry, who was being pinned in place by a wildly less insistent Kingsley.

"What," boomed Kingsley, "was the shape and flavor of your 17th birthday cake?"

Draco blinked, completely thrown and unsure if he'd heard correctly.

Fleur made an indignant sound behind them. "Not zis again," she fumed. "It's 'Arry!"

"Fleur, it's okay," Harry said, noticeably calm. "It was…chocolate, wasn't it? And in the shape of a Snitch."

Kingsley sighed with relief and backed off, nodding tersely at Bill.

Bill turned back to Draco, and he crouched back into the wall as best he could, unable to tear his eyes away from Bill's dangerous gaze.

But after a second or two, Bill's eyes clouded with frustration and confusion and he stepped back, and Draco almost sagged with relief.

"I can't think of anything," Bill said, pursing his lips.

"Let me," Harry interjected quickly. Kingsley nodded and handed him back his wand. Harry took it, but did not point it at Draco.

"Last year," He began, staring straight at Draco, "I accidentally—er, cornered you in the bathroom. You were…upset."

Draco closed his eyes and nodded. "I remember."

"Do you remember the spell I used on you?"

Draco's eyes flew open. "Yes," he responded hesitantly.

Bill, Fleur and Kingsley were all looking strangely at Harry, silent and confused.

"What was it?"

Draco looked around at them all before answering quietly, almost feeling the scars on his chest sting.

"S-Sectumsempra."

Fleur's brow furrowed, but Bill and Kingsley's eyes widened in shock and recognition.

"We've all done bad things without knowing it," Harry said evenly, shrugging.

_Just like me_, Draco finished in his head, but Harry left any mention of him unsaid. The others, however, stared at Draco like Harry _had_ said his name, their expressions ranging from caution to hesitant acceptance.

"Where's Hermione?" Harry asked finally, and Draco noticed the break in his voice with a pang in his own chest.

Fleur strode over to Harry, her hair fluttering over her shoulders and down her back, and laid a comforting hand on Harry's arm.

"She'll be okay," Bill said slowly, unknowingly echoing Draco's words from earlier. This time said, however, they were tainted with the expectation of further bad news instead of whatever comfort Draco's whisper could be laced with.

"But?" Harry interjected, jaw set and eyes blazing. Draco flinched as he recognized the stare all too well, from the countless times it had been fixed on him.

"But," Bill continued, looking evermore weary, "she hasn't woken up. She—we don't think—sometimes this happens in Muggles and Muggleborns when they've been tortured by magic. Their brain sort of—sort of fails. Their kind hasn't had as long to…acclimate to the possibility of such conditions."

"She…she's in a coma?" Harry whispered, his jaw now slack and eyes blown wide with horror.

Bill dropped his gaze.

"Of sorts," Kingsley allowed, and even though his eyes were kind and supportive, his voice and manner hadn't lost that professionally protective air that seemed to be infused within the man. "Magical comatose states can differ greatly from Muggle ones. We can't know for sure until we get a Healer."

"SO DO THAT!" Harry roared, making Draco jump backwards.

"Harry, it's not that simple!" Bill countered. "She is technically wanted on _criminal charges_ at the Ministry! We can't just pop her down to Saint Mungos. We have to get a Healer that's…that's like us. And I don't know how long that will take."

Harry let out a long, slow breath, head bowed and shoulders suddenly slumped.

Draco realized with a shock that it was the first time he'd ever seen the great Harry Potter look defeated.

"Can…can I see her?"

Harry followed Bill up the stairs, barely remembering Draco trailing noiselessly behind him.

Bill stopped at the top, and gestured to a white wooden door left of the banister. Harry nodded and marched on, Draco hurrying to catch up.

He pushed open the already cracked door, and a part of him almost relaxed at the sight in front of him.

Hermione was gently lying under white linens with a blue calico print, cleaned and soft and dressed in white pajamas that were certainly Fleur's. Her curls were spread almost artfully on the pillow beneath her, and her face was a painted picture of peaceful sleep.

Ron sat in a chair, obviously pulled up for him, beside the edge of the bed. His slightly shaking fingers lay hesitantly on Hermione's still ones, his other hand gingerly touching the ends of her hair.

He looked up when he heard the door creak, and his somber and worried expression gave way to surprise and relief as he shot up, his arms still on the bed.

"Harry! You—how?"

Harry opened his mouth to answer any question Ron might have, but before he could get a word out, he saw Ron's expression turn horrified and angry, his sights set on someone behind—

_Malfoy! Draco! Shit._

Harry stepped decisively in front of the blond that had slid into the room behind him, cutting off any immediate damage Ron could do.

Ron's face went from fuming to confused, his brow furrowed but his lips still curled in disgust. Not that Harry would ever tell him, but it wasn't a very attractive look on him.

Harry could almost hear the scathing "_don't hurt yourself, Weasel,"_ from Malfoy, and he braced for whatever was coming.

"He's going to hit me," came the response instead.

Harry turned around to find a seemingly nonchalant Draco leaning against the wall, barely inside the room.

"No, he's not," Harry responded, not believing himself as he said it.

"Actually, Harry," Ron's voice came from the other side of the room, sounding far too calm for his voice to be laced with such venom. "I think I might just kill him."

Harry whirled around again, expecting to stop a stampeding Ron Weasley from bashing Draco's head in, but instead found him quite stationary, looking at Draco like his mother's killer just asked to have lunch.

"Ron," Harry began, cautiously, and eventually Ron's eyes left Draco, settling on Harry with a slightly less murderous expression. "You—no one's going to hurt him."

Ron's eyes widened as suddenly as if he'd been slapped, the betrayal he felt almost pouring out of his irises as they darkened to a deep navy blue.

"He just stood there, Harry." Ron stated in that same deadly voice, and Harry flinched. "Just _stood there_, while Hermione—" his voice caught, and he stopped talking, shaking his head once.

"Ron," Harry tried, a bit desperately, knowing he was still convincing himself, "he rescued me. I wouldn't have gotten to Dobby in time, Draco knew that."

"HE CAME A BIT LATE, DIDN'T HE?" Ron yelled, gesturing furiously to Hermione, and Harry felt another pang in his chest as he looked at her unconscious form.

"Ron—"

"I bet he waited until he was down one _Mudblood_," he spat, throwing his words at Draco as if they were knives. Harry could practically see them embedding themselves in his skull.

"WHAT WAS I SUPPOSED TO DO, WEASLEY?"

"SOMETHING!" Ron roared, and kicked the bedframe.

"I couldn't," Malfoy shot back defensively, and Ron scoffed. "I couldn't! I wouldn't have known where to go, what to—_do_—and I couldn't get to her. It wasn't—I couldn't do anything."

Ron appeared not to hear him, but he also wasn't saying anything.

"Weasley…I'm sorry." Draco added quietly, sounding defeated.

A peculiar feeling washed over Harry at this. He blinked at Draco, recognizing the second expression of gentle sincerity he'd ever heard from the boy. From any Slytherin, even—save perhaps Slughorn. The words were not spoken for careful manipulation, as Harry had heard continuously pour from the mouth of Tom Riddle, chosen specifically to hone in and reward whatever his victim desired to hear.

No, Draco spoke again with truth, remorse and a general ache that suddenly, Harry found himself peculiarly but irrevocably wanting to ease.

_Ever the hero, _he thought bitterly, internally shaking himself for a minute.

Ron, too, was looking at Draco with an expression of incredulity, and Harry felt it was his turn to step in.

"Ron," he tried for the fourth time, and this time Ron let him continue. "We need to…accept him right now. He helped us all."

Ron looked at them both for a couple seconds longer, and then blew a long breath out.

"Alright," he said finally. "Alright."

Draco was staring at Harry when Harry looked back at him, and when he met the slightly amazed gaze of grey-eyed boy standing behind him, he looked away quickly, again quenching the sudden swell of protectiveness he felt.

Ron made a noise in the back of his throat and turned back to Hermione, sitting down in his chair.

"What happens now?" he asked in a small voice.

"I don't know," Harry answered honestly, and ignored Draco's raised eyebrows.

"You don't know?" Draco repeated, and Harry sighed.

"I didn't exactly count on one of us being rendered comatose," he snapped, before realizing that wow, he probably should have.

"I bet Hermione did," Ron commented, a bit mournfully, stroking her hair again.

Harry smiled sadly. "Bet so."

They all lapsed into silence, and Harry could still feel Draco's eyes on him.

"Harry," Ron said suddenly, and Harry looked at him expectantly. "You've got to go on."

Harry blinked at him. "What?"

Ron swallowed. "I'm not leaving her."

It took him a few seconds, but Harry grasped his meaning suddenly, and with the force of a dizzying punch to the gut.

Ron would be right at the spot he was at then for however long it took. It wasn't a choice to him—he could not go with Harry.

"We'll wait," he said a bit desperately, knowing whatever accommodating plan he was forming was ridiculous. "Until she gets better—the Healer will come in—"

"Potter," Draco said, evidently too shocked to remember to call him Harry. "That can't happen."

"Malfoy's right," Ron admitted, shooting a glare at Draco. "You know there's not time."

Harry stepped backwards, mind whirling. He felt sick, a cold fear settling in his stomach and he was suddenly back at the end of sixth year, after Dumbledore's funeral. He was back arguing with Ron and Hermione, back insisting his task was for him and him alone. Back loving them so much for promising to come with him. Loving so much the feeling of togetherness.

Now, the thought of being alone, well and truly alone, stuck out in his mind like a neon sign, his eyes hurting from the intensity of it. He had intended to go alone originally, and tried to save his friends the pain of what was coming, but suddenly the idea of honest singularity hurt more than he was willing to admit.

"…you've got to take the bag too," Ron was saying. Harry forced his attention back onto him. "She's got everything in there."

Harry nodded numbly.

"Harry—" Draco spoke quietly, a note of trepidation in his voice.

Harry's eyes flitted to him and absently tried to decipher his expression.

Draco opened his mouth to continue, but looked like he was unsure how to voice anything. He just stared at Harry, and Harry stared back, and Ron stared at Hermione.

Harry thought about Draco as he looked at him, and thought for the first time what was next for him. Would he be found? Would he be hidden? Would he fight? Would he protected?

And this last was not a mere curiosity, but a sudden all-encompassing worry that forced loneliness from his mind and that Harry suspected had a bit too much to do with the utterly lost look in Draco's eyes.

They all jumped at the sound of the door opening beside them, and Fleur's sympathetic face appeared.

"'Arry, dear—and Draco too—you are more zan welcome to stay ze night. And as long as you'd like. You two will 'ave to share a room—Luna and Dean 'ave to do ze same. 'ere are your zings—zey were left downstairs." She smiled ruefully again and handed Harry one lone rucksack. Harry suddenly remembered that Draco had brought nothing—couldn't have brought a single thing. Just his wand.

He nodded, not voicing any of this out loud, and motioned for Draco to follow him.

The two boys walked on in silence to the only other empty room in the cottage.

"Harry—" Draco tried again, but stopped short with a sudden choking sound. Harry turned, alarmed.

"Draco?"

Draco's mouth was open in a silent _O, _his eyes wide from shock, before he fell to his knees.

Then he started screaming.

"DRACO!" Harry yelled, dropping to his knees next to the writhing boy on the ground, who was now clutching his left forearm amongst screams of pain.

Before Harry could even comprehend what was happening, the entire cottage was shook by what seemed to be a massive explosion outside. Yells and screams sounded from downstairs, and there was immediately a pair of footsteps on the stairs.

"It's—_shit!_" Draco gasped, as another hoarse scream was ripped from his throat. "It's—the Mark!"

Harry was grasping his shoulders helplessly, looking wildly around for any clue as to what the _hell_ was going on.

Ron and Kingsley both suddenly bounded into view just as Draco arched up with a scream one more time before gasping and slumping to the ground, conscious but temporarily unaware.

"Harry—GO! Leave! Now!" Ron yelled, grasping Harry's arm and yanking him up. "We'll be safe—go!" He thrust Hermione's purse into Harry's hands, looking at him firmly with panic-stricken eyes before bounding away again.

"STUPEFY!" Bill Weasley's voice sounded from downstairs, followed by a cackle of unfamiliar and sinister laughter.

"_Sectumsempra_!" came a suddenly shrill scream that Harry was sure belonged to Bellatrix Lestrange.

Pure panic must have woken Draco up, for he was now scrambling to his feet, assisted by Kingsley, who shoved Harry's knapsack back into his hands.

"Harry, you _must leave._" He demanded, in a voice that was not to be argued with.

Harry did anyway.

"I can't leave!" he shouted.

"Yes you can!"

"Harry—" Draco tugged on his arm, before gasping in pain again.

After sending him a fear-filled glance, Harry looked directly into Kingsley's eyes.

"If they are hurt," he said, voice low and firm. "There will be _hell_. Majorca, Spain."

Kingsley blinked, momentarily startled, before his face settled into his usual mask. He nodded.

"Good luck."

Without thinking, Harry turned and grabbed both of Draco's hands so that they were facing each other. He had a split-second vision of that same look of amazement he had seen earlier before they were pulled into a crushing darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

The heat was oppressing, the sudden light blinding as Harry and Draco landed in yet more sand.

It was the fluffy kind, though—the white kind, the dry kind—the kind you see on postcards. Which was more or less exactly what Harry was picturing. He could literally hear the calls of seagulls, and sounds of awful beach music playing somewhere far off. He staggered to his feet, and was relieved to see that he and a heavily winded Draco were alone and seemed to have arrived unnoticed.

He focused on the picturesque shoreline almost immediately to their left. It was such a juxtaposition, he thought: the rolling waves seemingly designed for peace of mind were in direct contrast with the still breathless Draco Malfoy behind him, the fighting they were surrounded by not a minute earlier and the part of Harry screaming at him to go back.

And of course, he found himself quite literally alone on an island with the one person he'd never thought he'd be alone on an island with.

"Got a penchant for beaches, Potter?" said person lightly taunted, wincing in pain a bit as he picked himself off of the ground.

"You started it," Harry replied absently, walking over to Draco and looking him over. "You're okay?"

Draco sighed. "I am now."

"Care to explain what the hell just happened?"

Draco cast his gaze around before answering, and found two standard-issue beach chairs outside of the blessedly empty private bungalow they had arrived in front of. He plopped down into one with another sigh, burying his head in his hands. Harry noticed that his demeanor had none of the theatrics left, none of the prideful arrogance and intolerance of others he had always carried around with him at school. Harry realized he hadn't truly seen that side of Draco since fifth year.

He watched as the Slytherin unbuttoned his left cuff, rolling it slowly up his pale arm. Harry braced himself for the sight of the Mark, but had to stifle a gasp at what he actually saw in its place.

Draco let out a breath at the sight of it, wincing and turning his face away.

There—in the relative shape of what used to be the Dark Mark—stretched an angry red burn, the black ink gone but its memory etched in stretched skin and probable permanent scarring.

"Does it hurt?" Harry asked anxiously, coming around to sit in the chair beside Draco.

Draco shrugged. "Not as bad."

Harry stared at it for another second before asking. "What—how did this happen?"

Draco sighed again, collecting his breath for what Harry supposed was going to be a long explanation.

"The Dark Mark," he began, "is a nasty bit of complex Dark Magic. There is, to Wizarding knowledge, only one Wizard to ever have done, or is even _capable_ of doing something like this, and he gave it to me himself."

Harry watched as Draco closed his eyes, breathing deeply once more.

"When a new member takes the Mark, three things happen simultaneously. One, that member is equipped with the ability to summon the Dark Lo—to summon _him_, whenever and wherever they are. He, of course, may choose to ignore the request, or honor it. It's not so much of a summons as it is…a notification. Two, that person is now able to be summoned directly from the D—from him. It's not….it's not easily ignored. Incredibly hard to resist, to the point of intense physical pain."

"Is that what happened?" Harry asked, nodding at the burn. Draco grimaced.

"No."

"Oh…"

"What happened is the third thing that happens when someone is branded. It's…it's a sort of locator."

Harry's eyes snapped up to Draco's. "A _what?!_"

"It's—relax, it's okay—it can only be used once. And once it is used…" Draco glanced down at his arm, leaving the rest of the sentence unsaid.

"But…why make it that drastic? Why not just put in a nice tame location spell?" Harry asked, feeling the sting of his limited magical knowledge.

"Because _nice tame_ location spells don't mix well with such powerful Dark magic," Draco explained, eyes now shut. "And also because…it was only to be used in situations of betrayal. The idea is you can't run, see—because they'll just activate that last spell and find you and kill you. The burning away—it's part of the punishment. Strips you of any power, supposedly. It's all very symbolic."

Harry watched him for a second. "Are you okay?" he asked, and both of them knew he wasn't talking about the burn.

Draco slowly opened his eyes and turned his head towards Harry. "Are _you _okay, Potter?"

Harry blinked. "No," he answered.

Draco nodded. "Me either."

They didn't speak for a few minutes, but Draco finally broke the silence.

"Where are we?"

"Majorca, off the coast of Spain. This is a private Muggle resort," Harry answered, picking at the tag on his chair.

"How romantic," Draco deadpanned, and Harry flushed.

"Shut up. First place I thought of."

Draco laughed, and Harry cracked a smile at the sound. Not that he liked Draco Malfoy's laugh.

"So tell me, Harry. Why was Majorca, off the coast of Spain, the first place you thought of?" Draco twisted around to face Harry, eyebrows raised curiously.

Harry's smile faded a bit.

"The Dursleys used to come here during vacations I wasn't allowed on," Harry explained, returning to his tag.

"The Dursleys—your adopted family, right?"

Harry laughed shortly. "I lived with them."

Draco's face twisted in confusion. "Did they not like you?"

Harry nodded. "It is possible, you know," he teased lightly, though any playfulness he might have had was missing from his tone.

"Don't I know it," Draco sighed melodramatically.

_So he still has _some_ of his theatrics_, Harry thought, and was strangely comforted by the fact.

"We can't stay here," Draco said, looking sideways at Harry again, as if gauging his reaction.

Harry nodded. "I know," he said, turning his gaze on the ocean again. "We're waiting for a Patronous from Kingsley or Ron."

Draco sat up in alarm. "They know where we are?!"

Harry turned to him, eyebrows drawing together in confusion. "I had to tell them how to reach us," he said slowly.

Draco's mouth dropped in open in horror. "Are you _insane_?!"

"What!"

"What if they're captured, Potter! They'll _torture them_ for our location!"

Anger flared in Harry's chest, and he jumped to his feet. "They'd _never_ tell!"

"Oh, and you're sure about that, are you?"

"YES I AM!" Harry yelled, and Draco snapped his mouth shut, fuming at him silently instead.

"That's what friendship is, Draco," Harry said, more calmly but still standing firm. "That's what happened with Hermione, and if it comes to it, that's what will happen to Ron too. They'll _never_ betray us."

Draco stared at him for a long time, an unreadable expression on his face, before finally nodding.

As if on cue, Harry saw a silvery flash of light by the waves and turned to see a wispy Jack Russell terrier bounding up the shore towards Harry and Draco.

_"Harry—everyone safe. No change in Hermione…you've got to go on. Don't come back—wards up and indestructible. Good luck, mate."_ Ron's voice came from the terrier as it stood there, stationary, gently waving its tail. As the message ended, the Patronous disappeared, and Harry and Draco were again left alone.

Harry let out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding and almost fell back into his chair, sagging in relief. "Thank Merlin," he mumbled, burying his head in his hands.

"They're safe," Draco repeated in a numb disbelief, staring at something Harry couldn't see. "You actually won…"

"That does happen," Harry said, a bit defensively. Draco smiled grimly.

"Good to know I didn't defect for a bunch of Gryffindor idiots," he teased lightly, anxiously, trying unconsciously to provoke a smile from Harry.

It worked, he noted with a thrill of success as he watched a small smile spread its way across Harry's face.

"Now you're just stuck with one," he said, and Draco's eyebrows raised in surprise at the self-beratement.

"You're not an idiot," he said, a bit more seriously, and Harry actually laughed.

"You're still a git," he responded neutrally, stretching up now.

"Can't have you rubbing off on me too much, can we?" Draco answered quietly, still smiling at Harry's relaxing form.

A few minutes of silence passed until Draco feared they couldn't wait much longer.

"We can't stay here," he said simply.

Harry sighed and nodded. "I know."

"Where should we go?"

Harry looked around. "Somewhere we can sleep," he answered finally, shrugging.

They touched down in a forest somewhere Draco had picked, identifying it as the only place he'd ever gone camping. Harry thought it was a bit risky, but his exhaustion outweighed his desire to change locations.

"Do…do we just sleep on the ground?" Draco asked, looking around uneasily.

Harry looked at him for a second, and for the first time matched Draco with their surroundings. He started laughing suddenly, looking at Draco standing stiffly in his slightly dirty and very ruffled suit, shiny and expensive dragon-hide shoes staring distastefully at the abundance of green leaves above and below them.

Draco looked at Harry in alarm, who was bent in half, clutching his sides, still laughing.

"What on _earth_ could be so funny, Potter?" Draco snapped, feeling more uncomfortable every time Harry looked at him, tears of mirth in his eyes.

"You are," Harry choked out, finally wiping his eyes and standing up, a wild grin still on his face.

"_Me?_"

"Yeah! You—you…" Harry trailed off, shaking his head. "You are…woefully unprepared for this."

Draco's face hardened.

"Well _fine_," he spat, and relished as Harry's smile slipped off his face. "If I'm so damn _funny_, having maybe _one_ encounter with…with _nature_ in my petty privileged Death Eater _life_, I'll just go somewhere else. Leave you and your _expert arse alone!_"

Draco glared at Harry, aware he was marring his hurt words a bit by the petulant expression on his face. Harry's eyebrows were raised in surprise at Draco's outburst.

"Draco, you know I didn't mean it like that…" Harry tried, but Draco rolled his eyes. "I'm serious! I'm sorry."

Draco met Harry's eyes again and thought, not for the first time, that he might never tire of hearing Harry Potter apologize to him.

"I really, truly, honestly appreciate what you've done…for me, I guess." Harry finished, looking at Draco earnestly.

Draco's first instinct was to deny it—to deny that all of this—defecting, running, defying—was done for Harry's benefit, but he realized abruptly that if he were to do so, he would be absolutely and utterly lying.

"I did do it for you," he said out loud, blinking in the revelation. "All of it, for you."

Harry's eyebrows raised again, and he visibly blushed. "Er…it's…appreciated," he stammered, suddenly not meeting Draco's gaze.

Draco snorted, clearing his head. "Better be," he said lightly.

"Anyway," Harry said, clearing his throat, "the tent."

"There's a tent?" Draco asked, some hope in his voice.

"Of course there's a tent," Harry answered, fishing Granger's purse from his pocket.

"In the purse?" Draco drawled sarcastically, and was a bit thrown when Harry grinned at him.

"Yeah, actually."

Draco watched as Harry held the purse out at arm's length and pulled Bellatrix's wand from his back pocket. He pointed it at the bag and said clearly,"_Accio tent!_"

His eyes widened in shock as a mass of cloth and metal flew from the tiny bag and landed on the foliage below.

"Stretching Charm," Harry explained, smiling as Draco approached the mass on the ground.

"Granger?" Draco inquired quietly, feeling sorry when Harry's smile flickered.

"Yeah," he answered softly, then shook his head a bit. "Know how to set up a tent?"

Draco merely raised his eyebrows in reply, causing Harry to laugh again.

"Alright," Harry said cheerfully, beginning to set up the tent with magic.

Draco looked around, feeling unease at the level of their exposure. The gaps between the trees, as lush and green as their branches may be, seemed to scream at him, protesting their visibility.

"Harry," he said uncertainly, and the boy paused to look at him. "Don't you use…spells? To hide?"

Harry's mouth dropped open.

"Oh my god," he said weakly, looking frantically around. "I—I was so caught up in…in everything, I forgot the spells! Hermione usually does them, and I—I just…"

"Harry," Draco interjected, a bit startled by Harry's reaction. "It's okay, I don't think anyone's here."

"You can't know that. Just…here," Harry said, handing him the purse, obviously still a bit panicked. "Summon some clothes out of that and change, I'll do the spells."

Draco nodded and took the bag, watching Harry walk around their half-set up campsite, unconsciously liking the look of concentration on Harry's face.

He opened the bag and peered inside. The top layer contained a tube of a pale pink Muggle lip gloss and another thing that Draco didn't recognize, along with a handful of Muggle cash. Beyond that, however, the pink floral fabric of the inside was blurred a bit, and seemed to deepen into a dark pit from which the outermost things had been spared from. It had all the signs of a complex and really quite impressive Stretching Charm, just like Harry had said. He somewhat begrudgingly mentally congratulated Granger, grateful for her ingenuity for perhaps the first time in his life.

Remembering what he was supposed to do, he pointed his wand at the bag and Summoned a pair of jeans. They looked a few inches too short, though the waist seemed about right. He reasoned they must be Harry's, and lengthened them with his wand.

Then he froze, his mind catching up with his actions.

He was about to strip down, in the middle of a forest, in full view of none other than Harry Potter. And then, of course, he was to put on the Savior of the Wizarding World's jeans.

Well, modified jeans.

He glanced at Harry, and muttered a curse under his breath as he saw the brunet had finished his task and was now watching Draco with a carefully neutral expression on his face.

Draco cleared his throat and reached for his belt buckle.

"I'll finish the tent, then, shall I?" Harry broke the silence a bit too loudly, marching determinedly over to the mess of fabric and poles.

"Yeah," Draco responded a bit weakly, undoing his belt quickly and yanking it through the loops. He quickly stripped off his trousers with a cursory glance towards Harry, who had his back tactfully turned.

He pulled Harry's jeans on and was pleasantly surprised to find that they fit well enough. They were worn and comfortable, and—_holy hell, he was wearing Harry Potter's jeans_. He stared down at his legs, marveling at the fact.

There was something decidedly intimate about it, even though it was simply the most practical thing to do in their situation. It said nothing about trust, or compassion, or really even about friendship. He was just…wearing Harry Potter's jeans. And blushing because of it.

"Draco?" Harry called.

"Yeah?" He turned, hoping Harry would attribute the color in his cheeks to the cool weather.

Harry's eyes flicked down to the jeans, and Draco felt a not totally unwelcome wave of heat wash over him, which in turn caused a flood of confusion to seep into his brain.

_That was…what was that?_

"The…er, tent's ready," Harry said, gesturing blindly to the tent erected behind him.

"Oh, good," Draco replied, his voice steady. "I'll just finish in there."

Harry nodded and let him by.

_That _cannot _have been what I think it was._

"I'll just step outside."

_Absolutely not._

Draco shook himself once Harry was out of sight, blinking away the exhaustion-driven thoughts. He shrugged off his suit jacket and unbuttoned his shirt and cuffs, and was about to take it off when he heard the flap of the tent open and Harry's voice start to ask him something.

"Hey, Draco, do you—"

Harry stopped short as Draco whirled around, as good as shirtless.

"—oh. God, sorry…"

Draco took a deep breath.

"It's alright, Harry. What did you want to ask me?"

"Um, it can wait if…well, I just wanted to know if you knew if there were any…Muggle markets around here?"

Draco blinked. "Um. I doubt it."

Harry nodded, as if he expected this answer. He turned to leave, his eyes flicking to Draco's chest once more.

And then he stopped dead, eyes locked onto the smooth expanse of skin that was Draco's torso.

_Except it's not exactly smooth, is it, you idiot?_

Draco's eyes shot down to his chest, to the deep and pure white scars that marred his upper body.

_Oh, shit_.

"I didn't know it—it scarred," Harry choked finally, unable to look away from the damage he had unwittingly caused almost a full year ago, in a lonely Hogwarts bathroom.

"It's okay," Draco said immediately, yanking his shirt back over the scars and crossing closer to Harry. "I stopped being angry with you about it a long time ago."

Harry mutely shook his head, mouth open in unfound words, finally tearing his eyes away from Draco's chest to stare pleadingly into his eyes.

"It's okay," Draco repeated, debating whether or not to get closer.

"Can't you—you can't heal them?" Harry asked helplessly.

Draco hesitated, and then shook his head. "Not with the sort of…" he trailed off, looking for a way to explain his _curse scars_ delicately to _Harry Potter_. He cleared his throat. "Not with that spell."

Harry's hand rose perhaps inadvertently but stopped about halfway to Draco, as if he was reaching out to him.

_Maybe he is…_

Harry finally stepped closer, resting his hand on Draco's shoulder. His eyes ran the length of his torso again, but Draco felt no thrill of…_whatever_ this time. He only felt an aching sadness, only felt the weight of all things unfair on both of their shoulders.

"I'm sorry," Harry whispered, and Draco had to amend his earlier thought.

Apparently, there _was_ a time when Draco tired of hearing Harry Potter apologize to him.

Harry took the first watch, hoping Draco was able to sleep well in the warmed tent. He cast Waking Charms periodically to try to shake off his drowsiness, but he found that they were becoming less and less effective. He'd have to wake Draco up soon.

As if the blond could read his thoughts, Harry heard footsteps pattering around in the tent before the flap opened to reveal a sleep-ruffled Draco. Something about the soft vulnerability he was unconsciously giving off warmed Harry, making him smile.

"Go sleep," Draco mumbled, blinking the sleep out of his eyes.

"You sure?" Harry asked gently, still being extra-delicate around Draco following the discovery of the scars.

Draco rolled his eyes at Harry's tone, and Harry fought the urge to laugh.

"Yes, I'm sure, Potter," he replied, plopping down in the seat next to the opening of the tent.

Harry lingered there for a second more, watching Draco pull his knees up to his chest, his eyes staring warily but curiously out into the dark forest around them.

The night was relatively still, save for a chilly breeze that seemed to lazily curl around the atmosphere, reaching Draco and fluttering through his already sleep-mussed hair. Harry watched the little strands dance, and his eyes immediately snapped to Draco's when the Slytherin looked up at him.

"I'm serious, Harry," he said quietly, sincerely. "Get some sleep. I'm completely fine."

Harry nodded, shaking himself, and disappeared inside the tent. He walked numbly over to the bunk Ron used to sleep in, for whatever reason, and collapsed on it.

He was asleep, as they say, before he even hit the pillow.

The early morning saw Harry waking suddenly, though not from any nightmare or unrest, sitting up in his bed and glancing over to see Draco's empty bunk.

Harry cursed and threw back the covers. Why didn't Draco wake him?

He padded outside the tent, and immediately softened at the sight of Draco in identically the same position as the night before, still staring off into the trees.

"Hey," Harry said, before lowering himself onto the ground.

"Just in time for the sunrise," Draco said, a bit absently, not really looking at his companion.

Harry nodded, his throat inexplicably constricting a bit as he turned his eyes away from the boy in the chair and focused instead on the quite beautiful palette of vivid colors blending together right above the treeline.

There were times that Harry marveled about the amount of sunrises he's seen. Quite a lot more than most people, he thought, and considered the irony in this. Such a coveted thing, a sunrise, and in his unquestionably short lifespan, he watches them a sort of contemplative detachment.

So why was this one so different? Watching the sun climb its way up the pine trees seemed infinitely more interesting with each look Harry stole at Draco's profile, the most relaxed and peaceful Harry had ever seen it.

Harry had forgotten how easy it was to connect to a person. If he thought about it, the last time it had really happened was Ron, that first day on the train, and the relief he had felt at meeting someone friendly and different and more or less just as clueless as to what was coming, who seemed to _like_ him.

And Draco was…something else entirely. It made sense in a way, Harry supposed. Someone who had provoked such intense reactions in him since the first time they met…maybe it would always be extremes with them. Going from blinding hate and fury to a profound instinct to protect, or even to connect with completely, was…jarring, perhaps, but Harry couldn't say that it was unexpected.

That wasn't to say that Harry even understood it all.

He really only knew that he didn't watch that particular sunset as much as he watched Draco.

"Draco?" he asked suddenly, blinking as something occurred to him.

"Hm?"

"Um, where exactly are we?"

Draco finally looked at him fully, a hint of a blessedly familiar smirk on his face. "America. Colorado, specifically."

Harry blinked. "America," he repeated. "As in…The United States of?"

Draco laughed. "Yes, Potter. That one. Broke off formally from England in 1776? 'We the People' and all that?"

Harry gaped at him. "That's Muggle history," he remarked, eyebrows raised, and Draco rolled his eyes.

"Just because you learned about it in Muggle primary school does not mean it's solely Muggle history," he responded, a bit scathingly. "Honestly, Potter, you do know there are magical people in America and have been since its foundation?"

Harry flushed. "Well…yeah," he mumbled. "I mean, I figured…"

Draco looked at him curiously, any trace of derision gone. "Are you interested?"

Harry shrugged, not sure how to tell him he'd just love to hear Draco talk to him.

_Another new thing,_ he thought, a bit wryly.

Draco inhaled and leaned back in his chair. "So, as you know, after Columbus was literally the last person in the world to 'discover' America, people began to colonize. And hopefully, you also know that the historical forms of the Ministry of Magic and the Muggle Governments have always somewhat worked together, however loosely or unfriendly relations have been."

Harry nodded at that, remembering Kingsley protecting the Prime Minister.

"So when people began to sail over to colonize the New World, the Ministry back then sent over a certain percentage of wizards and witches too. When they got tangled in with the Muggles there, they started getting the same ideas of revolution and independence and all of those golden words that go so well with big change. So, the American Revolution became a Wizarding issue too," Draco finished, his eyes returning to Harry's.

"Do you like history, Draco?" Harry asked, his voice subdued but his eyes shining.

Draco shrugged. "Yeah. Yeah, I actually do. Why?"

Harry shrugged back. "It's kinda cute," he said, unthinkingly, and his heart stopped when he saw Draco freeze, his eyes blowing wide.

_Holy shit, _what?

"I mean—you were all—I—I'm still not totally awake, I'm sorry. That was…er, sorry," Harry stammered, feeling the red hot flush of mortification heat every inch of his skin, staring hard at the ground.

Draco stared at him for a second, eyes still wide. "Well," he replied easily after a moment, "good to know I'm good for something."

Harry laughed, feeling his body relax a little bit.

_Maybe that wasn't so bad…_

Draco laughed with him, and if his laugh was a bit more breathless than usual, neither of them said any more about it.

After breakfast, which consisted mainly of whatever Harry could Summon from the purse, the boys found themselves at a temporary loss regarding a course of action.

Draco looked around the tent, his eyes coming to rest on Harry, who was lying on his bunk and staring up at the tent ceiling, evidently deep in thought.

"Is this what usually happens? In the fight against evil?" Draco asked, with genuine curiosity.

Harry looked at him quizzically. "What do you mean?"

Draco gestured around the tent. "We're just kind of sitting here, aren't we? I mean, not that I'm particularly complaining, but…is this really how it goes? On the run, I mean?" Draco realized he was rambling and abruptly shut his mouth.

Harry sighed.

"No, actually. Usually we're planning, discussing, investigating, or running. Right now, I'm…trying to wrap my head around one thing at a time."

"Investigating?" Draco asked. "What, you solve crimes now?"

Harry snorted. "No, I meant…" he trailed off, studying Draco. "I have to start from the beginning with you, don't I?"

Draco wasn't sure whether to look affronted or sheepish.

Harry closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. Sitting up, he opened his eyes and motioned for Draco to come and sit beside him.

As Draco sat down, he could feel Harry's gaze on him, and he met it as steadily as possible. The green irises bore into him, searching him, formulating questions Draco could practically see whizzing around in the boy's brain.

He swallowed, feeling a bit less solid as he continued to match Harry's stare.

_I wonder if he knows the effect he has on people when he does that,_ Draco thought. _Those eyes shouldn't belong on a seventeen year old boy with glasses._

"Draco," Harry began, his voice low and serious. Draco felt a spasm of nerves in his stomach, and his pulse sped up. "I'm about to tell you literally every piece of information that will decide the outcome of this war. But before I do that, I need you to answer one question as honestly as humanly possible." If anything, Harry's gaze intensified. "Please. I need to know."

Draco exhaled, thinking he'd never forget Harry Potter's eyes.

"Anything, Harry."

Harry's eyes finally flicked away, softening as they did so.

Draco, far from relaxing himself, felt as though something had been ripped from him, his breathing pattern a bit unsteady and world just a bit off-kilter.

"Why did you rescue me?"

The question was far from unexpected, but it sent a shock of nervousness through Draco's system all the same. He sighed, and looked down, the silence thrumming in between them.

From the moment of his impromptu rescue to their daring escape and finally to his short but helpful sleep, Draco barely had had time to breathe deeply, let alone think about exactly why he was there.

But last night had seen Draco alone and undisturbed for the first time while Harry slept soundly on behind him, and he had finally allowed his mind to drift back to what happened and why.

"I realize now that me…getting out somehow…was probably inevitable, and it had been building up for a long time. While becoming an actual Death Eater was always supposed to sound glorious, the act itself is horrifying, to say the least. It's not honorable, or dignified. All that pomp and circumstance and claim to even your humanity flies away in the presence of um, You-Know-Who. It's fear, it's chaos, and it's dark. There's no ulterior motive to most of it, really. It's just his power. Just him—all consuming." He paused, shuddering, and looked up to see Harry staring at him again. His eyes were supportive, wide, and held an invitation for Draco to continue.

"I can never go back there. Even if I could, I won't. These last two years have had me questioning everything I believed in, I was just too scared to do anything. And then you showed up in my living room over Easter and _goddamn, _Harry, but there was no chance in hell I was going to watch you die." Draco never looked away from Harry's rapidly widening eyes, trying to pour sincerity into every word.

"But…why?" Harry whispered. "Why then?"

Draco snorted and broke the eye contact as he leaned back on the bed, his head and shoulders resting on the opposite wall.

"In the end it was the most arbitrary thing," Draco answered, still with the ghost of a bemused smile on his lips. "All that deliberation and fear and oppression, and it came down to…I don't know, some sort of gross sentimentality."

"A gross sentimentality," Harry repeated blankly.

"Yeah, Potter. You."

Harry laughed suddenly, a short burst of incredulous laughter that had Draco sitting up in protest.

"I'm serious!"

"No you're not!"

"I am!"

"You're actually saying that I, Harry Potter, caused you, Draco Malfoy, to suddenly defy your family and master because of—what, my sparkling personality?" Harry said, arms crossed over his chest and eyes surveying Draco doubtfully.

"It was actually the way you looked at me," Draco replied nonchalantly, and Harry's arms fell back to their sides. Draco glanced at him before continuing. "You stared me down, quite frankly—I wasn't expecting that. I mean, you had glared at me across hallways and classrooms for seven years, but that was different. When you looked at me at the Manor, you weren't angry. You weren't even pleading for your life, you were just…watching me. Like…you were expecting something."

"I don't know what I was expecting from you," Harry returned quietly. "I mean, I didn't want to try and trick myself into thinking that you were gonna…well, do you what you actually did, but…" he trailed off, taking a big breath. "I guess I have something to confess too," he admitted, looking up at Draco a bit hesitantly.

Draco drew his legs into himself, turning so he was cross-legged, facing Harry on the mattress. "What?" he inquired.

"I was there when Dumbledore died," Harry said in rush, not meeting Draco's eyes. "When you tried to…I was there."

Draco's blinked. "No you weren't," he said thickly, his mind whirling.

It wasn't right, that wasn't supposed to happen. Harry wasn't supposed to see him like that. He couldn't have been there. Not _him, _not _then._

"I was," Harry whispered, almost inaudibly. "Dumbledore had me go somewhere with him, and—everything was going wrong, we came back and went back to his office…he hid me as you came in…" he closed his eyes, choking on the rest of his sentence.

"Harry," Draco responded shakily, "that was the worst night of my life."

"I know," Harry responded, seeming to have regained his composure. "I know it was. And I knew you weren't going to do it."

"That's what _he_ said," Draco gasped, closing his eyes to prevent the prickling of tears in his eyes from spilling over. "Dumbledore. He told me I wasn't a murderer."

"You aren't," Harry affirmed, leaning forward and placing a hand solidly on Draco's shoulder. "You aren't. My point in all of this is that…from the minute I saw you hesitate, start to lower your wand, I knew there was something more to you. You were more than the Mark on your arm."

Draco exhaled, something more akin to a dry sob than an actual breath. He trembled as Harry moved his hand from his shoulder to cover up the ugly wound on his left forearm. He felt Harry's fingers wrap soothingly around it and he opened his eyes to meet Harry's gentle gaze.

"You _are_ more than the scar that it left."


	3. Chapter 3

"So," called Draco from outside the tent. "Do I have your trust yet, Potter?"

He heard a warm laugh in response and smiled to himself.

It was mid-afternoon now: a few hours after The Conversation, as Draco had dubbed it in his mind, and a few hours after Draco had subsequently allowed himself to be soothed and comforted and even _cared for_ by none other than Harry Potter. Draco never really tired of marveling at his situation.

That embarrassingly soul-baring exchange had made everything a bit awkward for the two boys after the atmosphere around them had calmed down a bit, dropping the dramatic and heavy feel to everything. They couldn't hold each other's eyes for more than a second, as if they had entered a territory neither of them were comfortable with yet.

Harry had taken all this as initiative to get into the fray once again, this time bringing Draco into things as well. He was currently setting up everything he needed to explain what exactly the Golden Trio had been doing in the fight against Voldemort. He had forbade Draco's entry into the tent until everything was ready, much to Draco's annoyance.

"Okay," Harry finally announced, "It's ready, I think."

Draco rolled his eyes and strolled into the tent.

"_Finally_, Potter. Merlin, I thought—" Draco broke off and stopped short at the sight of what Harry had done.

The brunet was standing in the middle of a ring of paraphernalia, with a triumphant smile on his face. He was surrounded by a miniature library—the responsibility of that one Draco assumed to Granger. Strewn about were also, inexplicably, various broken or destroyed treasures. There was one thing, however, that drew his eye immediately.

"Harry," he said measuredly, kneeling down. "Why do you have the Sword of Gryffindor?"

Harry looked at him perplexedly. "Weren't you listening at the Manor? Bellatrix almost killed Griphook over it."

"I think I was more focused on you than her at that point," Draco shrugged, willing his face not to show the surge of fear that went through him at the mere mention of his aunt's name.

"Okay," replied Harry, obviously skating over another sensitive area. "Well, um, I guess…legally, the sword is mine. I think. Hermione seemed to think that it was."

Draco crossed forward and sat down, looking at Harry skeptically. "Did you just say that you _own_ the Sword of Gryffindor?"

Harry nodded, running a hand over the rubies encrusted in the hilt. "Dumbledore left it to me. In his will."

"I'm assuming he thought you'd need it?"

"Well, yeah."

"Fighting _what_? Another basilisk?"

Harry laughed, and though it was good-natured, it was a bit disbelieving.

"Draco," he tried, "you do know who we're fighting, right? He's only been trying to kill me since I was born."

Draco colored. "Well, yeah—but has anyone ever tried just running a sword through You-Know-Who?"

Harry's mouth popped open, his face changing to an expression of mild amazement. One side of his mouth was quirked up in a small smile, as if he was trying to not to laugh in wonder.

"What?" Draco snapped, on the defensive.

"Nothing," Harry replied hurriedly. "It's just…that's what I said. When they gave it to me."

"Oh." Draco blinked a few times. "Well, great minds think alike…and all that."

Harry's expression turned teasing. "You think I have a great mind, Draco?"

"Shut up, Potter." Draco said, scowling, though his words held no heat. "So what _are_ you using the sword for?"

Harry pursed his lips, scrutinizing the mess around him. Draco tried very hard not to think of the word '_endearing_'.

"We really are getting ahead of ourselves," Harry said, and Draco rolled his eyes.

"Okay then, why don't you start from the beginning?"

"If you insist," Harry smiled grimly. He picked up an old and actually sort of disgusting book from the middle of the pile and handed it carefully to Draco.

"Ever heard of a Horcrux, Draco?"

"A Horcrux?" The word felt strange in Draco's mouth. Unnatural—he didn't like it. "No."

"Well, that book is all about what they are—how to create them and even how to destroy them."

"What are they?" Draco asked, cautiously opening the book and grimacing at the gruesome cover art.

"It's…well, a Horcrux is a part of your soul contained in a certain object."

Draco looked up, alarmed, and he pushed the book off of his lap. "That can happen?"

Harry let out a small breath. "Yeah. Voldemort made them."

Draco's eyes widened. "_Why_? I mean, that's…that's got to be incredibly Dark Magic…wouldn't it have been excruciating? Splitting your soul, I mean…_Merlin_…"

"Well, the point was probably worth the pain to him," Harry explained. "See, as long as part of your soul is contained in an object and not in your body…you can't really die."

Silence fell as Draco absorbed Harry's words. Slowly, he began to feel a great despair and coldness icing through his veins.

"He…he's _immortal_?"

"Well, hopefully, not for much longer."

Draco looked at him for a minute, thinking about what Harry had told him. Ignoring the part of his brain screaming his situation's helplessness at him, he instead chose to ask: "These Horcruxes, how do you make them?"

"Murder," Harry replied softly, looking at a shiny but damaged—

"Holy _shit_!" Draco yelled, jumping to his feet.

"What?!" Harry scrambled upright as well, looking wildly around the tent.

"That—that's Slytherin's Locket!"

Harry stared at him for a second before letting out a huge breath of air.

"_Merlin_, Draco, you can't _scare_ me like that!" He sat back down and regained his composure, and Draco followed suit slowly.

"How did you _get_ that?" Draco asked, his eyes wide.

Harry's lips did something funny, as if he was fighting back a smile. "We. Um. We kind of…well we knew _who_ had it, it was…just a matter of _getting_ to her…"

"Who had it?"

"Dolores Umbridge."

Draco stared at him blankly. "You _broke into Umbridge's house_ to get this?"

Harry's face reddened. "Erm, no. We…broke into the _Ministry_ to get that."

Draco threw his head back and laughed. "No you didn't."

"Yeah, we did!"

Draco shook his head slowly, not sure whether or not to hope that Harry had gone insane. "Potter, if _you_ had broken into the _Ministry of fucking Magic_ I would have heard about it. I mean, that seems like something You-Know-Who would have mentioned!"

"Is it though?" Harry challenged, sitting up straighter. "Maybe his ego was a bit wounded! I mean, I quite literally walked into the Ministry and back out again. Doesn't seem a good thing to include in the standard Death Eater pep talks."

Draco gaped at him. "Let me get this straight. You broke into the Ministry of Magic. You stole a precious heirloom from—where, exactly? Her office?"

"Er, her neck."

"_Fucking hell_."

Harry looked sheepishly back at Draco, a hesitant smile on his face as the blond stared at him in amazement.

"You, Potter, are an anomaly." Draco remarked, grinning when he saw color flood Harry's cheeks.

"Well, to be fair, so are you," Harry returned, his smile growing and making Draco's chest tighten.

"Harry," he mocked, fluttering his eyes elegantly and placing a hand on his heart. "You're making me blush."

"Well, good." Harry full on grinned, and Draco couldn't help but laugh.

"You're ridiculous."

"I thought I was an anomaly. You were being so nice!"

"The two aren't necessarily exclusive."

Harry fell flat on his back, giggling with hand covering his mouth.

The sound filled Draco with an ease and infectious lightheartedness as he watched him, fascinated, mouth still curved in a smile.

He must have stared at Harry a bit more than openly than intended, for Harry caught sight of his gaze and his giggles reduced, leaving a shy smile in its place and his blush returned in full.

Draco dropped his eyes, clearing his throat and looking around at the items still only partially explained.

"So, that's what you've been doing? Looking for Horcruxes?"

Harry nodded, back to serious conversation now.

"How do you get rid of one?"

"Well. It's not easy."

Draco rolled his eyes. "I can imagine."

"There are ways, though. Basilisk venom is one—that's how I got rid of Tom Riddle's diary—"

"_What?!"_ Draco yelped, jumping backwards, and Harry actually _laughed_ again.

"Oh yeah, I forgot I gave that back your father…"

"_Forgot_? Harry, that thing has been on my shelf for _five years_!"

Harry laughed harder.

"Stop laughing!"

"I can't! That's—that's hilarious!"

Draco glared at him until Harry calmed down.

"Okay. Okay, sorry. Next question?"

Draco sniffed a bit before continuing, not entirely missing Harry's eye roll but electing to ignore it.

"How many are there?"

"Six."

"_Six?!_" Draco's eyes widened in horror. "That can't—he split his soul _six times_?"

"He wanted seven," Harry said, shrugging. "Are you really that surprised?"

"I guess not," Draco said, still reeling. "But…how many have you destroyed?"

"Um…three."

"Three," Draco repeated, feeling the prickling of desperation in his extremities. "Potter, good God."

"Yeah," Harry seemed to echo his sentiment. "But um, about that—I think I might have an idea about where the next one might be. But I'm going to need your help."

Draco snorted. "Don't you know that you kind of have my help permanently now?"

Harry smiled at him. "Well, maybe not when I tell you where I think it is."

Draco's amusement immediately turned to wariness. "Where?"

"Gringotts."

"Good God." Draco's heart sank. Gringotts had always been the pinnacle on impenetrability in the Wizarding World, and now Harry wanted to retrieve something belonging to Voldemort right in the heart of it. "Whose vault?"

Harry held his eyes while he answered. "Your aunt's."

Draco blinked. "Potter, you've got to stop dropping bombs like that on me," he said, his voice wavering. "That's impossible. You know it is."

"Breaking into the Ministry should have been impossible, too," Harry argued, and Draco didn't really have an answer ready for that.

"Still not totally convinced that actually happened," he mumbled, and Harry smirked.

"So?" Harry pressed, his eyebrows raised in expectation.

"So what?"

"You gonna help me?"

Draco sighed. "Tell you what, Potter. Let's have dinner before we start planning to break into a bank, shall we?"

"So you _are_ gonna help me."

"Yeah, Harry. I'm gonna help you." Draco acquiesced. "And hopefully live through it," he added as an afterthought.

Dinner was the next pressing issue, and both boys found themselves at a sort of loss.

"Hermione usually took care of it," Harry had explained, "And you said you didn't think there are any Muggle markets around here, so…I guess we have to see what we can find."

"What we can _find_?" Draco had echoed, disbelieving. "We're going to—what, _catch_ our food?"

Harry had, of course, taken this as some sort of challenge, and had immediately rushed out to find a bird or something equally ridiculous to cook for both of them.

Draco had followed, somewhat warily, behind him, and was now resting against a tree as Harry wandered around somewhere in front of him.

"Do the wards go this far back?" Draco called, fairly certain Harry wouldn't be so careless as to leave their protective shields.

"Yeah, they do," came the predicted reply, and the pair of them lapsed back into silence.

Draco shifted his position against the bark as he watched Harry stalk something he couldn't see about fifty feet ahead of him.

_He needs a haircut_, Draco thought, as he eyed the shaggy black hair, which fell almost to Harry's shoulders, fall messily around the boy's head. Draco was certain Granger would have packed scissors in her bag, and resolved to give him one after dinner.

His mind, not for the first time, drifted back to the Horcruxes. All of the ones Harry had told him about—the diary, the ring, and the locket—had been incredibly personal or valuable items. It took knowledge about someone to know where they'd put a part of their soul, wouldn't it? And Draco, as horrible as it was, _did _have some inside knowledge about Voldemort, didn't he?

He closed his eyes and cast his memory back to all of the meetings he had been forced to sit through, trying to remember any item mentioned in length or in passing that had stuck out, or had been given noticeable attention. He tried to think back to their own personal vaults at Malfoy Manor, but it seemed unlikely, given the Malfoy's recent fall from favor, that Voldemort would have kept anything there.

"DRACO!"

His thoughts were immediately broken by Harry crying his name, and he snapped his head up in alarm.

"Harry?!"

"Draco!"

Harry was running to him, a wide grin on his face, levitating something brown and grey in front of him. Draco relaxed.

"I caught a rabbit!" Harry exclaimed proudly, showing Draco an obviously Stunned rabbit.

"Oh good," replied Draco sardonically, trying to cover up the fear he had not five seconds earlier. "I was wondering if the Chosen One knew how to catch a rabbit. Looks like I can put that worry to bed."

Harry smirked at him, obviously seeing through his cover. "Whatever, Malfoy."

_Damn. That's new,_ Draco thought.

Harry walked in front of him back to the tent, still idly levitating the poor rabbit. Draco watched it absently, his mind going back to Voldemort and the Horcruxes.

Suddenly, the two things lined up together in his mind and he stopped dead in his tracks.

"Oh," he breathed, the realization still wrapping itself around him. "Oh!"

Harry stopped and turned around. "Draco?"

"Harry," Draco asked, suddenly excited. "Can living things be turned into Horcruxes too?"

"I don't know," Harry replied slowly. "What are you thinking?"

"His snake! Nagini!"

Harry's lips parted in surprise. "You think Nagini is a Horcrux?"

"I think she's his most recent," Draco replied, nodding. "For about a year now, he's kept Nagini right at his side, always. In this—protective cage thing he holds above the table. He only lets her out to eat…Harry, I think she must be a Horcrux!"

"Draco, you're brilliant," Harry said sincerely, eyes blazing again for a reason Draco couldn't discern.

"Thank you," he returned, smiling, which made Harry's face break out into a grin.

"See? Fighting evil—not so hard," Harry said, jokingly, turning back around and falling into step with Draco.

Draco laughed. "Why did I ever doubt you?"

"I dunno why anyone does," Harry said, mock-seriously. "I'm kind of a catch."

Draco laughed harder, and Harry whacked him on the arm.

"No, I'm sorry, you are. A right charmer." Draco said, throwing him a sidelong smirk and winking, and he took pride in hearing Harry's breath catch.

_Still got it_, he thought smugly, before he realized he probably shouldn't be trying to charm Harry Potter.

_Right_.

The silence that then fell between them was a bit ringing, the crunching of the leaves below their feet a bit too loud and the setting sun suddenly a bit too bright.

Everything was suddenly just a bit too intense.

"So do you know how to cook a rabbit, Potter?" Draco's voice shook Harry out of his reverie and he realized they had reached the tent.

Harry looked at the rabbit, and the rabbit looked back.

"Um. No."

Harry flushed as Draco rolled his eyes, something he did entirely too much, so he levitated the rabbit towards Draco.

"You do it, then," Harry challenged, and was entirely thrown when Draco smirked at him again, something _else_ he did entirely too often.

"Alright, Potter. Give me the rabbit. And a knife."

Harry stared. "You're kidding, right?" he asked, a bit weakly, lowering the rabbit to the floor.

The smirk hadn't moved, much to Harry's annoyance. And Christ, but it wouldn't be so much of a damn problem if Harry didn't keep _blushing_ every time he saw the damn thing.

"I do actually know how to cook a lot of things," Draco said, matter-of-factly, casting a spell on the Stunned rabbit, rendering it unconscious so Draco could kill it. "Just because I don't know how to pitch a tent doesn't mean I don't know to cook game."

"Okay," Harry replied simply, none of that making any sense to him. "I'll leave you to it, then?"

"Unless you want to watch?" Draco asked, his voice lilting upwards as he met Harry's eyes.

If Harry didn't know better, he would have almost dared to consider Draco's tone _suggestive_. Shaking his head a bit, he told himself firmly there was no way _anyone _would be making innuendo over a dead rabbit.

_Not that Draco would be suggestive around me at all,_ he added. _And not that I would want him to._

The rabbit was surprisingly good—better, Harry had to admit, than the pitiful attempts Hermione would make them on nights they didn't have food from the market. Draco had inexplicably _spiced_ it—you can "find oregano anywhere", apparently—and Harry found himself wishing he could have more.

"Well, you're officially in charge of food," Harry decided, leaning back from the table.

Draco twirled his hands, inclining his head and leaning forward slightly in a mock bow, and Harry smiled.

"Now, Potter," he said gleefully, jumping up. "Now comes the fun part of the evening."

Harry's mind went blank. "The—what?" he stammered.

"Your hair," Draco explained, nodding at the offending mess, "has gotten horribly out of control."

"You…you're going to cut my hair," Harry inferred, eyeing Draco cautiously.

"Potter, I just cooked you a rabbit you _caught_. In the _woods_. Do you not trust me with your hair?" Draco asked tiredly.

Harry could only sigh in resignation.

"Good!" Draco trilled triumphantly, whirling around to grab Hermione's bag from the table. "_Accio scissors!"_

Predictably, a pair of silver generic scissors flew out and Draco caught them deftly by the handles.

"Draw up a chair," Draco instructed, and Harry obediently pulled the one he had used at dinner forward. "Sit."

Harry sat, and Draco came up behind him.

"If you so much as prick me with those scissors I wi—" Harry's sentence stuttered to halt as Draco unexpectantly carded a hand through his hair, sending a thrill from his scalp to his spine.

"I won't," Draco promised, much more softly than the words required.

"Okay," Harry whispered back, not trusting his voice to do anything else.

"I'll just cut it like it was back at school," Draco said, still playing with the strands of hair at the back of Harry's head.

"You…you remember what my hair was like at school?" Harry manages, trying to think around Draco's fingers.

"Yeah," Draco replied simply. Harry felt him gather his hair at the base of his shoulders—_had it really gotten that long_?—and heard the soft snip of scissors behind him. Short black hairs fell around his shoulders and onto the ground, quite a few sticking the back of his neck.

"Oh, sorry," Draco murmured, brushing a hand over the sensitive skin, and Harry suppressed a shiver. Draco cast a Repelling Charm on his upper body and set to work, snipping around his ears and trimming it away from his neck and…well, Harry had no idea what he was doing. He could only feel the tug at different strands of his hair and Draco's cool fingers brushing his scalp, his neck, his ears, his shoulders.

It was some kind of torture, Harry thought, to be given a quiet and intimate haircut—and Harry, before that night, never would of guessed those adjectives could be accurately be applied to a haircut—by a boy who, three days ago, he had thought was actively trying to kill him.

But it definitely wasn't for fear of Draco suddenly stabbing him through the neck, or even rendering him completely bald. No, it was the way Harry fought not to close his eyes or sigh or even move as Draco touched him fleetingly, accidentally, or precisely. And fuck if that wasn't unnerving enough.

Draco moved around to the front of him and kneeled down to inspect his bangs and whatever hair fell into the front of his face.

His eyes roamed Harry's face and connected with eyes for a moment, the grey lingering on the green before traveling back up the hair that now fully covered his scar.

"I'm going to cut your bangs now—stand up, I'll get a better angle."

Harry stood, feeling the back of his head as he did so. It felt fine—he didn't feel any gaping holes or inconsistencies.

Draco saw his expression and lifted an eyebrow. "It looks fine, Harry. Just how it used to be. In fact…" his expression changed to one of curiosity, "did you charm your hair ever at all?"

Harry blinked. "No?"

"Well, I could have sworn your hair grew as I cut it," Draco replied, looking like he didn't believe Harry.

Suddenly, Harry remembered the disaster of Aunt Petunia and the kitchen haircut and he burst out laughing, startling Draco.

"Sorry, I remember—my hair's always done that. One of the first ways my magic presented, actually," Harry explained, "Whenever it thinks it gets too short, it kind of grows out to the right length."

"Everyone's a critic," Draco huffed, and Harry grinned. "Come on then, let's get your bangs done."

Harry tilted his head up so he could try and match Draco's two inches over him.

"Close your eyes," Draco said, stepping closer and his now focused intently on his face. Harry mind blanked for a moment before he remembered what Draco was actually doing.

_Fucking hell, Harry. Get it together_, he told himself firmly, trying not to let any of this show on his face as he closed his eyes, per Draco's request.

Draco stepped closer, and as Harry's other senses strengthened, he had to suppress another sigh as he could _feel_ how close Draco was.

He was going insane. He was tired, a lot had happened, he was going absolutely insane. That was fine, right? He was Harry Potter. He was allowed insanity sometimes.

Then he heard Draco's slight hitch in his breathing pattern as his fingers brushed along Harry's forehead, accidentally caressing his scar as he began to cut his bangs. He managed to keep his eyes closed until finally Draco stepped away.

"Now I can see your eyes," he remarked, sounding satisfied, and Harry opened his eyes to simmering gray eyes locked onto his. The warmth of something electrical and tingling flooded through him, and his mind screamed at him as he dropped his eyes, trying and failing not to flush.

"Thanks," said Harry into the silence, and Draco smiled and nodded.

"It needed to be done," he replied, and Harry resisted the urge to stick out his tongue. "I'm gonna make a fire outside, it gets cold in here even with the Warming Charms."

Harry nodded wordlessly, and watched Draco exit the tent before letting out a long, slow breath.

Draco had no problem gathering firewood, and soon had a warm and roaring fire going, his chair stationed carefully away from the dancing embers.

He usually reserved fires for times of contemplation, or at least companions in school study or the focused art of potions, but as he huddled in front of this one, the blanket he had dragged off of his bunk wrapped around him, he found he could not condense his thought onto anything but straining to hear if Harry would come outside to join him.

Sure enough, he soon heard the scraping of another wooden chair against the ground as Harry brought the chair and the blanket to the spot beside Draco.

Draco glanced at him, taking in his worn eyes, staring listlessly into the fire. He saw his slumped pose, bowed head and dangling hands, and was reminded with a faint smile of what Harry used to look like after a particularly grueling Potions lesson.

But this was different, and Draco knew it. This was not the result of a moody Snape or a voracious Granger—this was the consequence of being made into a warrior at a year old, the result of becoming a martyr at seventeen.

"What are you thinking about?" Draco asked, and his mouth quirked down at the unoriginality of his own question.

Harry didn't seem to mind, however; he just leaned back in his chair, his eyes moving from the fire to the darkening forest around them.

"What happens after," he answered. "After all this."

Draco raised his eyebrows. "I would have thought it was obvious," he answered, and Harry turned his head to look at him.

"Obvious?"

"Yeah," Draco replied, a slight bitterness laced in his words. "You live as a hero again. Marry the girl Weasley, _Ginny_, and have loads of heroic children that will grow up to one day be the princes and princesses of Gryffindor, just like you two. The end."

Harry was quiet for a second, perhaps a bit stunned, and then laughed out loud.

"Yeah? That's not going to happen."

Draco looked at him again. "Why wouldn't it?"

Harry looked back for a few seconds before turning back to the fire.

"I might've thought that was going to happen," Harry answered, "Last year. I don't know. But I broke it off with Ginny months ago, and…god, but I thought I'd miss her."

Draco's lips parted in surprise. "You don't?"

Harry continued to stare at the flames. "I hardly think about her."

"And here I thought you two were…deeply in love and all that." Draco remarked, a smile he wasn't totally aware of pulling at a corner of his mouth.

Harry snorted. "Not really. Honestly…I think what happened was that Ginny finally became an actual friend to me instead of just 'Ron's sister'. And I…I don't know, I guess I just liked her finally. It wasn't much of anything, really."

Draco nodded, even though Harry wasn't looking at him. They sat in silence for a few moments before Harry spoke.

"Have you ever felt like that?" he asked quietly, and Draco was thoughtlessly frustrated that Harry still hadn't looked at him for more than a second.

"Like what?"

"Like…deeply in love, what you were talking about. 'The one' and all that."

Draco's eyes dropped to the ground.

It still stung, somewhere deep inside his chest. The nights he'd cried himself to sleep in fourth and fifth year, all over dreams and hopes and fantasies that would forever go unfulfilled. That whole catastrophe, however, led him to the first doubt he ever had about the success or righteousness of a pureblood empire, and he therefore felt Harry should know.

"I thought I did." Draco answered, and _finally _he saw Harry lift his head and look at him.

"Who?"

Draco glanced at him, a grim smile twisting his face. Harry would know two of his secrets tonight, it seemed.

"Blaise Zabini."

Harry's eyes widened. "Oh," he said, the light of understanding flashing in his eyes.

Draco laughed. "Don't tell my father."

"I was just about to owl him," Harry replied dryly, and then, more quietly: "What happened?"

"Pureblood aristocracy happened," he answered softly. "First time in my life I really started to question that whole structure."

"Purebloods can't be gay?"

Draco sighed, his misdirected frustration flaring up. "Think about it. If you're gay, you can't very well produce an heir. If you don't…well, marry who you're supposed to, there's a big chance you'll be disowned."

"So…that's what happened?"

Draco nodded. "His mum caught us one day. Promised to keep the secret on two conditions: one—it would never happen again, and two—Blaise would propose the next summer to a girl of his father's choosing."

"And he agreed?"

"How could he not?" Draco answered bitterly, his lip curling.

Harry was quiet for a second. "What…what did you say to him?"

Draco swallowed, wondering in dry amusement how the hell Harry seemed to know him so well. He saw Blaise's face in his mind's eye, both of them just fifteen years old. His expression was a mask of detachment, of resolution and a stoic decision. His eyes had betrayed him, though—the chocolate irises swimming with pain and regret, and it was his eyes that had led Draco to plead with him.

_"Please,"_ he had said, _"don't do it."_

"I asked him not to. I asked him to stay with me," Draco answered, looking Harry full on.

Harry's eyes widened in sympathy. "It didn't happen." It wasn't a question.

"Obviously not," Draco said anyway.

"I'm sorry," Harry said, sounding like he was at a loss at what to offer Draco.

"It wasn't your fault," Draco sighed.

Harry rolled his eyes. "I'm still sorry."

"Well. Thank you."

And they fell into a solemn silence, comfortable but not ideal. A thought suddenly occurred to Draco, and it almost made him laugh out loud.

"Cho Chang?" he offered, a devious smile spreading across his face.

Harry whipped around to face him. "What the hell?"

"Weren't you oh so desperately in love with Cho Chang all through fourth year?" Draco crowed, and Harry scowled.

"I thought she was pretty. And she was the first girl, save Hermione, that actually talked to me normally. And smiled at me. I was hardly _in love _with her!" Harry protesting, moping, and Draco grinned wider.

"I'm liking the reveal of your romantic history much more than the recalling of mine. In fact, I'd say you owe me because I decidedly _did not_ like talking about my tragic love story. Start from the beginning, tell me every crush you've ever had. Spare no details." Draco was alight with a sudden enthusiasm, and he swung excitedly around in his chair to face Harry, who was looking at him with raised eyebrows.

"You know, I'm surprised I didn't see 'gay' sooner," Harry remarked, waving a hand towards Draco, and Draco's mouth dropped open, color tinting his cheeks.

"_Potter!_"

Harry laughed. "Sorry! Kidding."

Draco sniffed, still glaring at Harry.

"Seriously! Kidding. You want my full romantic history?" he asked, amusement in his voice, and Draco nodded. "It's not very interesting."

Draco laughed. "I don't care."

Harry grinned, closing his eyes for a second.

Draco watched him then, his lips spread in an easy smile, eyes closed and head titled up. It looked almost like indulgence, the warmth of the fire coating both of them and the light from the flames flickering easily on Harry's face.

Draco, for once, allowed the rush of affection to wash over him in full as he watched the boy, his smile softening and eyes gleaming.

"I never liked anyone like that until Hogwarts," Harry began, opening his eyes, the comfortable smile still on his face. "And I guess Cho was the first time it happened, in third year, though I guess nothing really happened until a year later. But still, my list only totals three."

"Three?"

"Yeah."

"Cho, Ginny, and who else?" Draco asked, his heart beating a bit faster.

Harry looked at him and then looked away, suddenly shy, but still smiling.

"Cedric Diggory," he answered, glancing at Draco out of the corner of his eye as he said it.

Draco blinked. "Oh," was all he could think to say.

Harry nodded, his gaze returned to the fire. "Hermione came across a term one summer and wrote me about it. Bisexual," he explained, nodding slowly. "Attraction to more than one gender."

"Oh," Draco said again. He couldn't stop the rush of actual _hope_ that ran through him on the disclosure of Harry's sexuality nor could he stop the astonishment of what Harry had just told him. Of course, part of him was laughing its ass off at the _Cedric Diggory_ side of the situation. He decided to express the latter part instead.

"Potter, I can't believe we both had a crush on the same boy," he choked out, laughter bubbling up in his throat and slipping out when he saw Harry's head snap up towards him, eyes wide.

"_No_," he breathed, and Draco laughed harder.

"Why in the hell did you _think_ I convinced the entire Slytherin house to root for a _Hufflepuff_?" he wheezed, and Harry just continued to look horrified.

"To spite me!" he replied, and Draco started laughing anew.

"Merlin, Potter, you don't have to be so self-centered," he teased, and Harry narrowed his eyes at him. "Kidding, of course."

"Holy _shit_," Harry summarized, and Draco took deep breaths to steady his breathing pattern.

"This is officially my favorite conversation I've ever had with you," Draco said sincerely, nodding.

He appreciated that Harry had the decency to look touched.

Harry thought it was distinctly unfair that Draco had to look so damn beautiful in the firelight. He thought it was even more unfair that Draco was gay and happened to look that way in any situation. And overall, Harry thought it was a direct curse on himself that Draco was gay, and beautiful, and effectively living with Harry.

And Harry knew there wasn't a single fucking thing he could do about it.

He laid on his bunk, staring up at the tarp ceiling and listening to Draco trying to fall asleep in the bunk on the opposite side of the tent.

"Harry?" Draco's voice whispered, and Harry inhaled sharply.

"Yeah?"

"Well…I wanted to tell you I'm glad you told me what you told me," Draco said, in a rush, and Harry could practically envision the boy's blush.

He smiled to himself. "I'm glad you told me what _you_ told me," he replied.

It was quiet for a second before Draco answered. "I am too," finally came his voice.

"Night, Draco."

"Goodnight, Harry."

It was a whisper.


	4. Chapter 4

"_Harry!_"

A voice, urgent and frightened, snapped Harry from the depths of sleep.

He blinked his eyes open, turning his head to the sound of the voice.

He saw Draco's face, white and scared, and immediately sat up.

"What is it? It's barely morning!" Harry whispered, looking around the tent anxiously for some sign of danger.

"I hear voices!" Draco replied, barely making any sound.

Harry sighed. "It's probably just Muggles camping. Remember, these wards prevent them from hearing or seeing us. We could be running around naked screaming our heads off right in front of them and it wouldn't make a difference."

Draco shook his head. "I know, but—they don't _sound_ like Muggles camping. I think I'm hearing names. Names I know."

"Do you think it could just be you?"

A flash of anger shone in Draco's eyes. "Potter, I am _telling you_ we are both in danger. Now get up!"

Harry pursed his lips. "There aren't likely to be Snatchers in America, are there?" he began the question gently, but his tone turned sharp when Draco looked at him in confusion.

"Why…wouldn't there be?" Draco asked, his brow furrowed.

"How expansive is this war?" Harry hissed, swinging his legs around the bed and hopping off, so he was standing in front of Draco.

"The Wizarding _World_ is at war, Harry," Draco replied. "That doesn't mean Hogwarts and the English Ministry. You-Know-Who has lots of stations in America. It's not as intense, but Mud—_Muggle-born_ witches and wizards are disappearing all over the country."

Harry cursed and ran for the flap of the tent, Draco right behind him.

He could see figures emerging from the trees around them, completely oblivious to the tent and wizards about forty feet in front of them. They were definitely wizards—and Harry's heart sunk to see a big black notebook being carried under the arm of one of them, no doubt filled with names like the one Scabior had been carrying.

"They're Snatchers," Harry muttered darkly. "They can't see us still, or hear us, but they're here. We should go. As soon as they leave, we should—"

"Does someone smell smoke?"

Both of them froze as the lead Snatcher, a very tall and thin woman with sepia skin and short black hair, stopped to smell the air.

"Did you let the fire burn last night?" Harry hissed, and Draco paled.

"I—I put a Containment Charm on it, but I—I just liked the light, I'm sorry!" he whimpered, and Harry opened his mouth furiously, but stopped at the look on Draco's face.

His eyes were huge and scared, one hand clutching Harry's arm and the other wrapped around himself. Harry swallowed, his words changing from furious to comforting.

"It's…it's okay, it's fine, Hermione did the same thing with her perfume—"

"There's definitely been something burning here," the woman carried on behind them.

"Someone was here last night?" a small and bald man that reminded Harry of Mundungus spoke up, looking around.

"There's no campfire," a blond woman in the back said. "Must have covered their tracks well."

"Well they couldn't have gotten far," the first woman cut in hurriedly. "Go quickly, see if you can find more tracks. I'll catch up in a minute, I want to see if I can find anything else."

The rest of her group nodded and quickly ran off, the tall woman walking studiously around the perimeter of the barrier.

Once her group was out of sight, her demeanor suddenly changed completely. She looked straight at the tent, though a bit off to the side, gaze unfocused, which made Harry certain she couldn't see them. Her rigid posture became more relaxed, and she walked right up to the barrier, reaching her hand out slightly.

"Fuck," Draco breathed behind Harry, and Harry moved in front of him, his arm reaching around curling protectively, if not awkwardly, around him.

The woman opened her mouth to speak, and Harry reached for his wand.

"I don't know who you are," she said carefully, "but you need to get out of here now."

Draco stiffened in shock and Harry's grip on his wand loosened a bit.

_Is she warning us? _Harry dared to wonder, listening hard to whatever else the woman was going to say.

"There are others coming behind me," she said, her words now rushing. "My group's not the smartest, but you're not always going to be that lucky. You have maybe five minutes—go now."

With a stiff final nod, she swallowed, turned and ran in the direction her group members went, her rigid posture and evil mask back in place.

Harry let out a long breath, feeling Draco stagger away from him in relief.

"Holy _shit_," he said, and Harry almost laughed at his amazement. "That was the _luckiest thing_ that has _ever_ happened to me."

"We need to leave, though," Harry said seriously. Draco nodded. "Pack everything as fast as you can."

If Draco hadn't seen it done, he wouldn't have believed an entire campsite could be packed up in just five minutes. They were five scared, rushed and efficient minutes, yes, but three hundred seconds is still not a lot of time.

But then there they stood, double-checking everything and straining to hear the aforementioned voices.

"Shields down?" Draco asked finally, and Harry nodded.

He watched as the boy drew his wand, took a deep breath and waved it high in the air. As he brought it down, whispering something under his breath, Draco suddenly felt incredibly vulnerable as the protective charms lifted.

"Where are we going?" Harry asked him, jumping when they heard a faraway shout. "Quickly."

"Amsterdam," Draco responded, having had the idea ready in his mind. "Ready?"

Harry hesitated, then nodded, grabbing Draco's hand, who felt the now-familiar trill in his chest as he looked down at their joined hands.

Another shout from the distance made him shake his head, clearing away any other confusing thoughts. He nodded once at Harry and Disapparated.

The first thing they heard was the sound of a loud horn on a nearby road, making Harry stumble on the landing in surprise.

Draco landed smoothly on the pavement, but Harry fell into him, and Draco's arms went instinctively around his waist to catch him. Harry grasped his forearms and straightened up, his eyes levelling with Draco's and pinning them both to the spot.

_Merlin_, Draco thought, blinking down into Harry's green eyes. _I'll never get over that._

Harry flushed deeply, but instead of pulling away, he seemed to draw minutely closer.

"Close call," he whispered, smiling weakly.

"That does seem to be the main theme with you," Draco responded, a similar smile gracing his lips.

"Yeah," Harry replied simply.

Draco laughed breathily, his hands resting more solidly on the small of Harry's back. He hoped to whatever deity he knew didn't exist that Harry couldn't hear his heart pounding, or his blood rushing or his nerves singing as he watched the boy smile at him like that. He hoped Harry didn't pull away any more, and he even hoped, for a wild moment, that Harry felt like that too.

Just as he was about to say something, _anything_, really, a loud voice broke the silence.

"GET IT OFF THE STREETS, BOYS!"

Harry jumped backwards at the yell, leaving Draco suddenly cold and shaken behind him.

A large, burly man passing the alleyway they had landed in shook his head at them and continued on his way, leaving the boys alone again.

Draco was breathing heavily, and he realized he had been just short of holding his breath the entire time they'd been here.

Harry wasn't meeting his gaze, something Draco thought he'd always find frustrating now, and still had the deep burgundy color in his cheeks.

"So," Harry said, gesturing around them, "this is Amsterdam?"

"This is a part of it," Draco said, quite obviously, and he cringed inwardly.

Harry laughed. "Which part?"

"Trevor Street. Well, the alley behind it. Trevor Street is hidden from Muggles the same way Hogwarts and Diagon Alley and the World Cup Stadium was. It's a private residence," Draco explained, motioning for Harry to follow him to the end of the alley.

Draco heard Harry's footsteps stop abruptly, and he turned around.

Harry was looking at him apprehensively. "We're staying with people? _Your_ people?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Potter, seriously. I'm not even close to that thick. Just come with me, I'll explain inside."

Harry nodded, still looking wary, and walked up to Draco's side. They both faced the dirty expanse of white concrete, and Draco checked over his shoulder for anyone wandering around near them.

He took out his wand and placed it gently on the wall.

"Harry," he said suddenly, as the wall started to shift and look decidedly less solid, "hold on to me. I forgot about this part."

Harry, seemingly alarmed, wrapped his arm through Draco's.

"What p—?"

Harry's question was cut off as the wall suddenly pulled them through, none too kindly.

The concrete was like hardening butter as they were sucked through it, and Draco shut his eyes, the sensation only slightly better but much more prolonged than Apparation.

It spit them out, finally, in a dark and overgrown garden pathway. Harry was clinging still to Draco, looking thoroughly violated.

"What the _hell_?" he gasped, and Draco laughed despite himself.

"The magic's a bit off, it hasn't been refreshed in years. It used to be much more comfortable."

Harry let out another breath and looked around. Draco watched him for a second before doing the same.

The gothic exterior of the house reminded Draco vaguely of his own home, though not anywhere near as extravagant or severe. Their house was lighter, not the oil black the Manor seemed to resemble at times, but rather a simple gray stone. The windows were huge and looked bereft of curtains, and Draco realized the family probably would have taken them with them when they left all those years ago.

"Is this another one of your homes? Because we shouldn't be here if it is," Harry said, his eyes locked on the mansion.

"No. I never lived here. In fact, I've only ever been here once before."

Harry looked at him, puzzled, and Draco motioned for him to follow. Harry obliged, and they walked in silence up to the front door of the house.

Draco doubted very much they could just walk in, and he was proven right when he found he couldn't even touch the door handle without coming into contact with a magical barrier.

"I need a password," Draco said, scanning the door. He remembered what it _used_ to be, but he was fairly certain they would have changed it in the three years since it had last been assigned.

"Don't ask me," Harry muttered, and Draco rolled his eyes.

"Oh, Potter, shut up."

Draco looked the door up and down once more before stepping back. He cleared his throat.

_"Zuiver._" Draco tried, and cursed silently when the barrier remained, the door still tightly sealed.

"What was that?" Harry asked.

"The password it used to be. That's 'pure' in Dutch." Draco explained, thinking hard.

"Oh!" he exclaimed suddenly, a smile breaking out on his face. "It's their family name, it has to be! _Cornelissen!_"

He grinned wider as he heard a faint _whoosh_, and the click of a lock turning. He reached out and wrapped his fingers around the freed handle, and, throwing an impromptu wink over his shoulder at a surprised Harry because _why not_, turned it and opened the door.

It was both exactly as Draco remembered and completely different, in that the same ancient yet inviting stone structure all around them still stood as it did three years ago, but it was utterly devoid of anything that once qualified it as belonging to the Cornelissens.

"Wow," Harry breathed, stepping in beside Draco and casting his gaze all around the stone hallway. "This isn't anything like Hogwarts…"

Draco laughed at that, feeling just a bit delighted at Harry's wide-eyed wonder. "Were you expecting it to be?"

Harry shrugged and blushed, evidently a bit embarrassed. "I mean, it's a big stone building…"

Draco laughed some more, and Harry laughed along with him, the sound bouncing off of the walls of the hallway.

"It's gorgeous," Harry added quietly. "How do you know this place?"

Draco looked at him sideways, pursing his lips.

"I just want to know," Harry reassured him, seeing the hesitation on Draco's face.

Draco nodded. "It was a few months after the Blaise incident. Father had a…well, a sort of business transaction with a family in Amsterdam. I know now it was him recruiting them—they stayed with us for two weeks the summer before sixth year. The family—the Cornelissens—were not nearly as…extreme in their thinking. They were proud of their pureblood heritage, but weren't willing to join a war, or submit themselves over to You-Know-Who."

"Did your families get along, then?" Harry asked, and Draco could see him becoming worried.

"Yeah, I think so. We were invited to stay with them anytime, but that could have just been customary. My parents were never here, I don't think." He paused, glancing again at Harry. "I was."

Harry nodded, seemingly unsurprised. "Why?"

"They had a son. My age, I think—we were only a few months apart. We were—well, we weren't exactly _involved_, we just—I don't know, what else were you going to do cooped up in a dark Manor for a week while your fathers handled politics downstairs?" Draco snorted to himself, smiling faintly at the memory of Alexander sighing and flopping down on his couch, eyeing Draco pointedly as he complained.

_"I'm bored, Draco. Aren't you?" _he used to say, and Draco would always laugh.

Harry looked as though he had just been slapped in the face.

"What?" Draco asked, confused.

"You brought me…to your _ex-boyfriend's house?!_" he hissed, and Draco stepped back in shock.

"I—well, I mean, we were more friends than—you know, we weren't together."

"Still!" Harry exclaimed, wide-eyed. "You were together enough to live with him here!"

"It was a _weekend_! It was technically still only part of the recruitment mission, Father knew we were close—of course, he didn't know exactly _how_ close, but—"

"Gah!" Harry gasped out, covering his ears with his hands.

"Why the hell do you care?" Draco asked, completely bemused.

"Because I…I don't want to know about that!" Harry stammered, looking as confused as Draco felt.

Draco continued to stare at him. "Why?"

"I don't know!"

"I know it's not a homophobia issue…for obvious reasons," he said slowly, watching Harry flush slightly. "So why _do _you care?"

Harry shrugged, staring at the ground.

Draco examined Harry further, watching the boy turn steadily redder with each pressing moment of silence. Then it hit him—and he grinned, feeling suddenly devious.

"Harry," he asked, his voice lowering, and Harry's head snapped up at the sound of his tone. "Are you a virgin?"

Harry's eyes widened. "_What?_"

"Are you a virgin?" Draco repeated, matter-of-factly, taking delight in deliberately messing with Harry.

Harry just glared at him.

"You _are!_" Draco crowed, his grin returning. "Of course the Golden Boy is, in fact, pure as gold. You were actually _scandalized_ by my story, weren't you?"

Harry said nothing.

"I can't believe I'm helping The Virgin Harry save the world," Draco continued, shaking his head in dismay.

"Why, are you offering to do something about it?" Harry retorted hotly, his eyes suddenly flashing and Draco froze.

"I—" he began, but then just stopped, staring at Harry, slightly shell-shocked.

"Thought so," Harry muttered, a bit triumphantly, a bit something else, and moved to side-step Draco.

Seized with a sudden impulse to keep Harry there with him, Draco reached out and grabbed Harry's arm, pulling him closer before his brain caught up with his actions.

He gazed intently down into Harry's eyes, which were enlarged with shock and suspension. The green drilled into his own eyes, riddled with questions and some other driving force.

"What are you doing?" Harry whispered, and Draco loosened his grip, slowly realizing what was happening

"I don't know," he answered, "I don't…"

Harry stayed perfectly still. "You don't know?"

Draco shook his head, dropping Harry's arm and stepping back.

The silence that consumed both of them then was unbearable, and Draco was telling himself to walk away from this now.

_This is turning into something you weren't prepared for. Turn back. Turn back or go forward._

"I think I should look around," he said finally, and Harry blinked at him, apparently a bit bewildered.

"Good idea," he responded, and Draco couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or not. He watched him walk away, his footsteps echoing all the way.

When he was gone, Draco slumped against the nearest wall, letting out a huge breath sagging against the light grey stones.

He was insane, he knew that. Insane with this sudden wanting, insane with the fact that it consumed him so completely for a second. Insane for wanting to stop Harry again and shove him against the nearest wall, right where Draco was leaning at that moment.

And he was, above all, insane for letting him walk away.

Draco shook his head.

Things were getting…messy. Draco never liked messy. He started to re-visit his exact priorities, trying to clear his head.

He had decided first off that Harry, being alive and being safe, was The Most Important Thing.

The Second Most Important Thing, of course, was now his own _personal _problem involving Harry—namely, whatever it was that made him want to snog him senseless every time Harry looked at him.

And Harry looked at him a lot.

And that, there, was The Third Most Important Thing: how _Harry_ felt about all this. Even though Draco was going to be the only other person Harry would even see until Gringotts—_oh fuck, and that's The Fourth Most Important Thing_—this could all be in Draco's head.

Because, of course, it had been established already that Draco was well and truly insane.

Ultimately, it was The Most Important Thing (_certainly_ not any of the others) that drove Draco to look for Harry.

Strange house, strange place—he shouldn't be alone.

He probably shouldn't be with Draco at the moment, either, but it was better than no one.

He found Harry after some ten minutes of searching, staring aimlessly out of one of the wide windows on the top floor. His back was turned, motionless and relaxed. He didn't seem to hear Draco come in, appearing to be lost in some train of thought. Draco made no move to break the spell, longing to know what Harry was thinking about.

Finally, after it had suddenly occurred to him how creepy he was being, he cleared his throat, somewhat awkwardly, and Harry whirled around.

"How long have you been standing there?" he asked, and Draco shrugged.

"Just a second," he lied, and Harry nodded, perhaps satisfied.

"Right," Harry said. "I was just thinking about…what to do next."

"You mean regarding the Horcruxes?" Draco asked, a feeling of dread creeping into his stomach.

Harry hesitated. "Yes," he answered carefully. "I've decided two things."

"Okay," Draco said slowly. "What are they?"

"One," Harry said, looking back out the window again, "we need to get into your Aunt's vault."

"Oh," Draco replied, a bit weakly. _Dear Merlin, we're going to die,_ he thought, staring forlornly at Harry's back.

"Two," Harry continued, turning to face him again, gazing directly into Draco's eyes, "_you _are too much of a distraction."

Draco blinked, taking a step back in bewilderment. His mind began swirling, trying to decipher what Harry meant.

_Could he mean…_

"I'm sorry," he said finally, because he felt like it was maybe something he should apologize for.

Harry snorted. "Don't worry about that right now anyway."

"Okay," Draco replied, still at a loss for helpful responses. He didn't like that, not knowing what to say. Especially not to Harry.

"I need to contact Ron," Harry said suddenly, and Draco was thrown yet again.

"Well, that's a nice idea and all—very thoughtful—but I hope you realize why that's largely impossible," Draco responded, a hint of pleading creeping into his tone as he saw the determined look on Harry's face.

"Not with a Patronus charm," Harry replied, folding his arms.

"_Merlin_, Harry—you have the most recognizable patronus in the world! It's one of your identifiers! Every Death Eater knows to look for a stag patronus. You _cannot _send your patronus." Draco said firmly, hoping he was shutting down whatever ridiculous idea was forming in Harry's mind.

Harry rolled his eyes. "I know_ I_ can't send one," he explained, "but _you_ can. No one knows yours."

Draco sighed, impatient. "That's because I don't _have_ one."

Harry shook his head. "Not true. Everyone _has_ one, I think, you just don't know how to bring it out."

"How philosophical of you," Draco deadpanned.

"I'm going to teach you how to cast the Patronus Charm," Harry announced, as if he hadn't heard Draco's comment.

Draco blinked. "What, right now?"

"No. Tonight. We need food right now," Harry replied, crossing the room and brushing past Draco on his way out.

"That might be problem," Draco stated, following Harry wherever he was going.

Harry looked at him curiously. "We're in the middle of a city," he said, as if he was being incredibly obvious. "Surely there's a market of some kind?"

"That's very dangerous," Draco warned, and Harry looked at him derisively.

"What parts of our life are safe?" he said, lip curling.

Draco watched him a bit cautiously, not saying anything.

Harry stared at the floor.

"Are you mad at me, Harry?" Draco asked quietly, feeling small all of a sudden.

"No." Harry answered quickly, still watching the wooden floorboards.

"Are you sure?"

"No," Harry replied, missing a beat. "No, not really."

Draco laughed without humor, a short huff of incredulity and ran his hand through his hair. "Well for fuck's sake, Harry, what do you want from me?"

"I don't know!" Harry exclaimed, throwing his hands up in front of him. "What do you want from _me_?"

Draco's mouth popped open, but he said nothing, at a total loss.

"Exactly!" Harry continued, gesturing at Draco's expression. "I didn't fucking sign up for _this_! At least you made some sort of _decision_ here, everything just sort of _happened_ for me!"

Draco's lost expression changed quickly to one of fury. "I should have just left you back at the Manor, then? To _die_?" he hissed, eyes narrowed, and his heart hardened as Harry glared at him.

"Yeah, maybe. Because I can't _deal_ with…with _this _right now!"

"Deal with _what_?!" Draco practically shouted back this time, partly because he was utterly lost as to what Harry was talking about partly because he was dreading the answer.

"WITH YOU!" Harry almost screamed, eyes wide and filled with an emerald fire that would have been overwhelming if it wasn't trying to break Draco in two.

Draco stepped back, his lips parted in shock and hurt. He felt a wave of humiliation rush through him as Harry's words finally resonated.

Harry no longer wanted him there.

Perhaps he was appreciative at first, grateful even, but of course Draco had fucked it up. He fucked it up because was Draco Malfoy, and fuck everything he's ever stood for if he's done _anything_ right in his entire life.

And Harry had seen that. Harry had seen _him_, for the first time, the real _him,_ and he had fucked it up.

Not even the one good thing Draco thought he'd ever done—rescuing Harry Potter, redeeming himself, was apparently any good at all.

Or at least, it wasn't good enough for Harry.

"Fine," Draco said finally. "Okay. I'm sorry. I fucked up. I'm sorry."

He _was_ sorry—but something in him had shut down—and he found himself only vaguely sorry as the rest of him collapsed somewhere near the floor, leaving him feeling familiar feeling of an empty shell, fear settling in around the edges of body. It was a feeling he didn't remember with this degree of intensity, but he remembered it, had felt it for two years since taking the god-forsaken Mark, before Harry had come back.

The fire in Harry's eyes dimmed a bit, and he seemed to deflate upon seeing Draco's reaction. "Look," he sighed, and waited for Draco to say something.

But Draco no longer cared.

"I'm going to the store," he said, and Harry's lips parted in surprise. "For you. I'll make you breakfast, to say sorry, we can discuss what's necessary, and then I'll go."

Harry blinked, staring at Draco in utter confusion.

Draco looked at him for a long moment before quite suddenly Disapparating, his name the last thing he heard from Harry's mouth.

"Draco!" Harry cried, surging forward as the boy Disapparated.

He stopped when he realized Draco had gone, and immediately, a cold panic gripped him, twining itself around his veins and icing through his heart.

He breathed deeply, trying to distill his fears.

He was being ridiculous, wasn't he? Draco had said he was going to the store, and then he was coming back. Harry had no idea where the store even was—all he could do now was wait. Harry could yell at him for scaring him half to death then, and then apologize, and explain what the _fuck_ he meant when he said what he did.

Well, as soon as he figured that out for himself, that is.

He had said, quite plainly, that he couldn't deal with Draco. Of course, that probably had a wildly different meaning to Draco than it did to Harry.

Draco probably thought he meant Harry no longer wanted him there—and in a way, he supposed, that was sort of true. He didn't want this completely unexpected and constant distraction from his job of literally saving the world, and he especially didn't want it in the form of Draco Malfoy.

Because while Harry never thought he'd even have any inkling of affection or protectiveness or _desire_ for Draco, the blond-haired, grey-eyed boy was slowly consuming his thoughts.

Which, considering his history with shared thoughts, was decidedly _not _okay.

Voldemort, however, had been worryingly quiet since he and Draco had escaped from the Manor. He had had no visions, feelings, stray thoughts or even vague suspicions as to what he was doing.

Which made Harry very, very scared.

And, on the other hand, so did Draco.

So did this new and strange tension between them, the looks they'd give each other and the things they'd accidentally say, and the most terrifying thing about it all was the fact that if Harry had just wanted, for lack of better words, to _get off_, this wouldn't be anything resembling a problem. Harry had been suppressing that side of him ever since it reared its ugly head around fourth year, mainly due to the fact that he had neither the time nor the lifestyle to even consider worrying about anything like that. He had long since trained his mind and body to know that there was a _time _and a _place_.

No, this wasn't Harry's "other brain" talking. This was more of the warmth Harry felt whenever Draco smiled, whether at him or the sky or the ground or the fucking oxygen around him. It was more of the thrill that went through him whenever Draco met his gaze, like the rush of the only whiskey Harry had ever tasted, running through his veins like it was his blood.

It had been three days since the Manor and seven years since Madam Malkin's robe shop, and Harry felt every hour every time he looked at Draco.

And if that wasn't a bad sign, Harry didn't know what was.

Because even if there was no war, even if they killed Voldemort _tomorrow_, if he waltzed his arse into their new hallway and dropped dead at Harry's feet, he and Draco would have a whole other war to wage, even more alone than they are now. No one would be on his side save Harry. A public relationship concerning The Chosen One and an ex-Death Eater was a war that they couldn't win.

Of course, that didn't stop his heart from beating faster every time he thought about Draco. Didn't stop him from—God help him—falling for the git.

_Bastard_.

He didn't sign up for this.

That last sentiment, unfortunately, was the only thing he seemed to have gotten across to Draco.

And he had scared him away—something Harry could hopefully undo when he returned—

Harry jumped up, fear slamming into him again as a horrible thought occurred to him.

_Unless you won't see him again_, he thought, panicking, breath coming faster. _Unless he's gone, unless he never intended to come back_.

"FUCK!" Harry yelled, kicking the nearest wall and trying to slow down his thoughts.

If he had let Draco go, he wouldn't last a single _day_. Draco could be dead in hours.

Harry Disapparated down to the door, making sure his wand was in his pocket and bursting through onto the front porch. He ran down the lawn, his throat constricting at the thought of what he had potentially had just done.

_Draco, fuck, I'm sorry,_ he thought desperately, though he knew it would do no good.

He came to the plaster wall that separated the residence from the rest of the world and hesitated for a second, unsure of what to do. He cautiously put his hand up to it, and was thankfully accepted into the wall with an unwelcome stretching sensation. He was spit back out on the other side of the same alley, and took off running again.

He was in Muggle Amsterdam, and he registered dimly that he wouldn't be recognized here. Lucky, he was.

He ran down the bright streets filled with happy, busy or distracted walkers, pushing past all of them.

He had no idea where he was going.

Suddenly, he caught sight of a man standing next to a stop sign, casually reading a newspaper. Harry raced up to him.

"Sir," he gasped out, breathless from his sprinting, "can you please tell me where the nearest grocery store is?"

The man blinked, alarmed. "Yeah," he said, blinking a few more times. "Two blocks down the road that way." He pointed down the road, and Harry was filled with temporary relief.

"Thank you!" Harry called over his shoulder as he took off again, running in the direction the man had pointed.

He found it exactly where it was supposed to be, and he raced inside the bright glass double doors.

Pausing, he whirled around in all directions, looking for a platinum blond head among the crowd of shoppers.

He deliberated calling his name, but his better judgment suppressed that urge.

_Breakfast_, he remembered faintly, and quickly found the section with eggs.

He tried to look calm and composed as he speed-walked among the grocery-goers, but he suspected he was rather failing in that endeavor based on the looks he was getting.

When he didn't see Draco among the eggs, he began to panic again, fear tightening in chest.

He took to racing among the aisles, no longer caring what the other people thought of him. With each aisle containing no Draco, he felt the desperation in him rise to new heights. He felt like screaming, or hitting something, or even crying in fear and frustration. He ran to the last aisle, close to hysterics, when finally, _finally_, he caught sight of a tall and slim figure with white blond hair standing in the middle of the cereal section, head bowed and hands pressed to his temples.

_He's here, right there, he's safe—thank God, thank Merlin, thank the whole fucking Mount Olympus,_ Harry thought, nearly collapsing in relief.

"Draco!" he cried for the second time that day, his voice breathless, wavering and high.

Draco's head snapped up, and Harry was immediately pierced with wide, wounded grey eyes.

"_Harry_?" Draco breathed, astounded, and Harry flew up to him.

"Jesus _fucking _Christ," Harry almost sobbed, practically falling into the boy.

Draco's arms came around him and Harry wrapped his own around Draco's ribcage, his head burrowed into Draco's shoulder.

"What the _hell_ are you doing here?" Draco asked, not moving to pull away. "I told you very plainly I was coming back, didn't I?"

"I didn't believe you," Harry sighed, finally relaxing. "I thought you were just going to leave and get a head start on me, or give me an excuse not to look for you, or something. God, Draco, I am _so sorry_. Everything I said, I didn't mean anything you think I did, I'm _so sorry_."

He was completely rambling now, but he didn't care, he just hugged Draco tighter as the words tumbled out of his mouth, wishing Draco would relax a bit.

Draco placed his hands on Harry's waist and pulled away a little bit, Harry's head raising to meet his gaze.

"You are _ridiculous_," he said, his eyes still wide as dinner plates, but Harry was comforted by the slight small that curved his lips.

"I'm sorry," Harry said again.

"It's okay," Draco murmured, his eyes turning the color of melted silver. "We can talk about whatever at the house."

Harry nodded, dazed. "I'm still holding you to that breakfast promise," he managed, and reveled in the sound of Draco's laugh.


	5. Chapter 5

Embarrassing breakdown aside, Harry was infinitely glad he had gone after Draco.

These pancakes were _amazing_.

"Didn't you have a house elf for your entire life? Where the hell did you learn to cook?" Harry asked, amazed, and on his third pancake.

"Okay, well, first of all—I literally just added water and eggs to pancake mix and cooked it. Second, I like to cook. The house elf we got after Dobby taught me when father was away." Draco added the last part a little wistfully.

"Oh," Harry said simply.

"So," Draco said casually, leaning back in his chair. "Why _did_ you come running into the grocery store like you thought all of your friends were about to die?"

Harry swallowed. He was suddenly no longer hungry, and he didn't suspect the amount of pancakes he had consumed had anything to do with that. There was a churning in his stomach and his heart sped up. Was Draco trying to use pancakes to manipulate him?

_Bastard_.

"Well," Harry said slowly, "It kind of…occurred to me that you might not have been telling the truth. About coming back. I thought…I thought you might have just left me."

"Wasn't that…" Draco paused, eyes downcast and voice quieter. "Wasn't that what you wanted?"

Harry sighed. They were doing this now.

"No," he replied firmly. "It wasn't."

"You said—"

"I didn't explain very well," Harry interjected, cutting off Draco's protest. "You were…you _are_…a distraction. To me. And what we're trying to do."

"But _why_," Draco whispered, pleading. "What did I _do_?"

Harry held his gaze, unwavering. "I don't know," he whispered back, shaking his head slowly. "I really don't."

"Was it…was it that thing? In the hallway? Did I make you…uncomfortable?" Draco was suddenly stiff and tensed, dropping Harry's gaze.

"This isn't you, Draco," Harry assured, then stopped.

_Well…yes it is, _he thought.

"I mean," he amended, "it is you, but it's not…_you_. Not…_on_ you."

Draco blinked. "What are you saying, Harry?"

Harry opened his mouth.

And then there was a knock at the door.

Both boys froze, Harry's heart stuttering in his chest.

That was impossible. That _was_ impossible, right? They'd have to be a wizard to get past the wall—and from what Draco had explained on their way back, a wizard with family permission, which Harry was automatically granted by arriving with Draco, and then they'd have to have the password to even knock on the door.

It was impossible.

But then, they knocked again.

"Who is it?" Harry hissed, and Draco stared back at him, helpless.

"It _couldn't_ be them," he whispered, eyes wide with fear. "It couldn't!"

They heard the door open.

Draco barely concealed a gasp and Harry got quickly and silently to his feet, drawing his wand.

Just then, something akin to an invisible rippling wave rolled over both of them; it wasn't altogether unpleasant, but Harry felt a sinking in his stomach as he recognized the spell immediately.

"They know we're here," he breathed, and Draco rose to his feet as well, eyes on the doorway behind Harry and hand on his wand.

"Hello?" a voice called, cautiously, the reverberations ringing out in the piercing silence.

Draco's eyes got still wider, and his mouth opened in shock. He said nothing, though, and Harry realized who it was with a strange sensation in his chest.

"Draco Malfoy?" the same voice called again, and no threat could be detected. "It's just me, it's Alexander."

Draco moved away from the table, and Harry tried to plead with his eyes for him to stay and be silent.

Hesitantly, Draco raised his wand, and cast a near-silent revealing charm.

"It's just him," Draco affirmed, still a whisper.

"No," Harry whispered back, but Draco looked at him apologetically.

"Draco?" the voice called again, more hopeful this time.

"Alexander." Draco answered, and his voice was obviously loud in the previously quiet room.

Almost immediately, they heard footsteps on the stairs, and Harry ran from the room. He hid behind the nearest doorway, pressing himself flat against the wall.

"Draco Malfoy, Jesus Christ." Harry heard the same voice speak, and he was irritated that he couldn't put an image to it.

Draco laughed, but Harry took some weird delight in hearing it strained and wary. "The one and the same."

"I never really thought I'd see you again."

"How did you know I was here?"

"When you broke the barrier the first time, our family was notified. It's part of the magic. You're lucky I was the only one home when we got the sign."

"That is lucky."

My parents don't know I'm here." Alexander said, almost like he expected thanks.

"I'm very appreciative of you for coming alone," Draco obliged.

"Well, all of that begs the question, of course, of what the hell are _you_ doing here?" Alexander asked, sounding a bit befuddled at the situation at hand.

"I don't know if I can tell you that," Draco answered evenly, and Harry smirked despite himself.

"You know my family's place in this war," Alexander answered readily. "We are neutral, way away from the thick of the mess for a reason. Me giving up your location or anything about your situation wouldn't do anything but bring my family and I into things we don't want to get into."

Draco was silent.

"Draco, you know I have always cared for you," Alexander continued, in a much softer voice.

Harry ground his teeth.

"I needed this as a safehouse," Draco told him finally.

"Who are you here with?"

Draco was silent again.

"I know there's someone else here, I think I should know _who_," pressed Alexander.

Draco laughed shortly. "You wouldn't like the answer."

Alexander laughed too, with much more humor than Draco. "I bet you could _make_ me like it," he said, voice dropping low and that was quite enough of _that_.

Harry pushed himself off of the wall and stepped decisively into the doorway, and both boys' heads snapped to the movement.

Draco's eyes closed as Alexander's widened to the size of golf balls, his mouth falling open.

"Sorry, you probably weren't expecting me," Harry said, feeling bold, and for some reason, unquestionably irritated.

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Draco fight back a smile.

Alexander continued to gape at him for a second before wheeling around to face Draco again.

"You, using my old house, I can deal with," he said, obviously trying to keep his composure, "but _Harry Potter_? Are you _fucking kidding_? How the hell did this even _happen_?"

"He rescued me from Malfoy Manor," Harry challenged, voice firm. Alexander stared at him again in astonishment.

"No, he didn't."

Harry raised his eyebrows.

"Less than two years ago, Draco was recruiting me and my family to join You-Know-Who's side in the upcoming war," Alexander said slowly, doubt clouding his eyes, "and you're telling me…what, you just turned rebel? Overnight?"

"The details don't matter," Draco snapped, and both Alexander and Harry looked at him surprise. "What matters is the situation we're in right now."

Alexander sighed. "I'm not sure what you want me to do," he said, shrugging.

"I want you to go back home," Draco replied firmly, "and pretend like you don't know we're here."

Alexander looked at him for a long time before saying anything, and Draco looked back. Harry's eyes flitted in between the two of them, the feeling of irritation rising in heat inside of his chest.

"I think I need to speak to you," Alexander said finally, "in _private_," he added pointedly, his eyes darting to Harry before swinging back to Draco.

Draco chewed on his lip, eyeing Harry.

Harry wanted to protest, to make up some claim about Draco's safety, but he didn't actually think Draco was in any danger. He simply didn't want Draco alone with Alexander, his past flame.

With a meaningful glance at Draco, Harry nodded stiffly. His eyes narrowed and the hot prickle of irritation rising into a blue flame in his chest as he saw Alexander grab Draco gently by the arm and lead him out of the kitchen.

As soon as they were gone, Harry collapsed into a chair, closing his eyes and rubbing his temples.

_Fuck it all_.

Draco jumped as he felt Alexander's fingers wrap around his forearm and pull him out of the kitchen. He wanted to look back at Harry one more time, whose extremely annoyed expression would have been funny if they weren't in such a serious situation.

He was faintly alarmed when he recognized the path Alexander was leading him down, but let him pull him to where Alexander's bedroom used to be.

When they arrived, Alexander shut the door, something Draco thought to be rather unnecessary.

"Now that we're actually away from him," Alexander began, and Draco's insides twisted with anxiety, "maybe you'd like to tell me _why_ or _how_ you evidently rescued Harry Potter and decided to backpack across Europe with him?"

"Uh," Draco said, uncharacteristically. Alexander seemed to notice the difference as well, and raised his eyebrows.

"Have you been…having some sort of torrid love affair or something?"

Draco turned red. "No!" he spluttered, "That's—no."

"_Why_, then?"

Draco scratched his head, realizing how much he was resembling Crabbe and Goyle.

_Good fucking question_, he thought to himself.

"Was I supposed to just watch him die?" Draco asked quietly, and Alexander scoffed.

"Actually, Draco, I think that's exactly what you were supposed to do," he said, disbelievingly.

"Well, it wasn't going to happen," Draco snapped. "I wasn't—I didn't want that to happen."

Alexander sighed. "Draco, you weren't in love with him two years ago."

"I'm not in love with him now!" Draco protested, not even sure how to handle this conversation.

"You fucking must be!" Alexander exclaimed. "You don't just risk literally your entire life for a boy you're mildly concerned with. Or even relatively affectionate about. It's not something you do for the boy you have a crush on. It's something you do for someone who means more to you than whatever your life means to you."

Draco had no counter to this.

_He's right, isn't he?_

Alexander seemed to take his silence for a reluctant admission.

"I'm not going to give you two up," he said, and Draco's eyes snapped up to his.

"I won't protect you either," he added, "I'm just going to…pretend you're not here. Pretend I never knew. No one comes looking for us—I'm fairly sure you two will be just as safe here as anywhere."

Relief surged through Draco, and he nodded fervently.

"Thank you," he said sincerely, and Alexander nodded in response.

"Don't die in this mess of a war, Draco." Alexander said, a hint of a plea in his eyes.

Draco was silent for a second.

"I'll live and I'll die for Harry Potter," he said finally. "Not this messy war."

Alexander blinked in surprise, but quickly composed himself. He nodded once more, a cursory goodbye, and Disapparated.

With Alexander finally gone, Draco exited the room and walked quickly back to the kitchen.

He saw Harry at the kitchen window, his back turned, just like the first time Draco had walked in on him like this.

This time, though, Harry turned at the sound of Draco entered and when Draco saw his face, he stopped dead in tracks.

There was a roaring fire in his eyes, blazing almost dangerously Draco's way. The green was stronger than Draco had ever seen it, but it was not a fire of anger, or even heroism. There was something else burning in those irises, in the way he held himself and the way he stared at Draco.

He saw determination, and he saw desire.

His pulse sped up.

"Harry—" he began, but Harry interrupted, voice low and quite different than Draco had ever heard it.

"Is he gone?"

Draco blinked.

Alexander. Right. That happened.

"Yes," he answered. "Harry—"

Harry was on him in an instant, crossing the room quickly and walking Draco back against the doorway.

Draco's entire system flooded with shock and he opened his mouth to say something—he wasn't sure what—but he couldn't get a single syllable out before Harry Potter leaned down and actually, really, completely _kissed_ him.

_Holy mother of Jesus CHRIST._

And of course, it wasn't by any means gentle, or sweet, or anything that Draco would have imagined kissing Harry would be like.

It was insistent, demanding, hard, and _hot_.

Draco's rational thought gladly abandoned him as he twisted a hand in Harry's hair, his eyes falling shut and Harry seemed to take this as an incentive and curled an arm around Draco's waist, pulling him away from the wall and pressing him more into Harry's body.

He inadvertently let out a soft moan as Harry slipped his tongue into Draco's mouth, making him shiver against the other boy. Draco entagled his tongue with Harry's, grasping at him blindly to try and get as close as possible.

He grabbed Harry's hip and the brunet stuttered a bit, gasping into Draco's mouth as Draco grinded his hips against him.

Harry's fingers, still on his back, slipped under the hem of his shirt and he trailed the cool skin of his fingertips over Draco's bare back, making goosebumbs rise on his skin and sending a thrill of sparking electricity through his nervous system. Draco's other hand moved from Harry's hip to his neck and he ran his fingers down the skin there, bringing them yet closer and trying to blindly feel every inch of the boy in front of him.

His heart was still pounding, his body in an overwhelming state of shock and longing, and he hadn't felt this since he was fourteen.

And even that hadn't been the same. That had been hesitant, and exploratory, and foolishly hopeful.

This…_this_ was rogue and desperate and it was beyond Harry's obvious jealousy—it was beyond the both of them.

It was the penultimate of their relationship, it seemed, of their all-or-nothing dynamic. Less than a week really _together_, talking and _knowing_, and they were lighting each other on fire in a way neither of them could have predicted.

And as Harry pulled away finally, completely out of breath and eyes full of Draco, he only confirmed this thought.

They stared into each other's eyes, winded and undone, drowning suddenly in the extremity of their situation.

_I could lose him tomorrow,_ Draco thought, the wave of alarm and fear and raw, raw feeling rushing through his entire being as he exhaled shakily and wrapped both arms around Harry's waist, simply holding him there.

"I know," Harry breathed, looking slightly amazed with Draco for whatever reason. "I'm sorry."

Draco shook his head, bringing one hand up to cup Harry's jaw, leaning forward to kiss him gently.

Harry obliged, tightening his hold on Draco. This kiss had lost the fire and explosion of the first, and as they kissed each other and erased the tension they had been carrying in both of their bodies, they pretended unconditionally that nothing else in the world existed.

And it was a bad idea, really completely idiotic, and it was far from perfect. But it was their luxury.

The rest of the day passed in relative silence, as if they were both in a quiet awe of what had happened. Time passed with thoughts and a fair amount of kissing, though never was it as heated and rough as it had initially been.

Harry was the one to start an actual conversation, sometime in the evening, both of them lying together on top of a couch they had transfigured in the middle of a previous drawing room.

"I wasn't kidding about the Patronus Charm, you know," he said casually, and Draco twisted his neck around to face the boy lying behind him.

"I know you weren't," Draco replied doubtfully, "but I don't think I can do it."

"Why not?" Harry immediately challenged. "I taught a room full of students to do it two years ago, I'm sure I could teach you."

"I'm not doubting _your_ abilities, Harry, I'm doubting _mine_." Draco admitted, sighing. "I don't think I'll be able to produce one, considering."

"Considering what, all the shit you've done?" Harry asked bluntly, and Draco's eyebrows raised in surprise.

"Well, yes," he answered. "It's a valid concern!"

Harry scrutinized him for a minute before nudging him to stand up.

"I think you're being ridiculous," Harry announced, as he watched Draco rise from the couch, "and I'm going to teach you anyway."

"Saint Potter," Draco teased quietly, no malice behind his words. He smiled up at Harry, who looked at him curiously for a moment before grinning and pulling Draco by the arm back into him, kissing him quickly and sweetly before bounding off, still pulling Draco along.

"The thing about the Patronus Charm," Harry said, standing in front of Draco in the middle of a large empty room, "is that it's rooted primarily in concentration and intense emotion."

"Perfect," Draco muttered, and Harry ignored him.

"That's why people have agreed on the method of memory to provide the necessary power to cast it," he continued. "Remus told me to think about the happiest memory I had. It can't just be anything, though—it has to literally be the most intense _positive_ emotion you can get, to counteract the negativity of the evil the charm is designed to counteract."

Draco nodded, though his feeling of doubt was beginning to return.

"What was your memory?" he asked, and Harry smiled, perhaps unconsciously.

"Ron and Hermione," he replied. "Just them. Their faces, I think."

Draco was surprised. He had never really understood the friendship between the trio, never really understood just how tight their bonds were. He knew, on the surface of his mind, that Harry would do anything for any of his friends, but he had just assumed that was rooted more in Harry's natural inclination towards heroism than towards his actual, pure emotion and love for his friends.

"And that was enough?" he asked, and Harry nodded.

"What about you?" Harry prodded, and Draco shook his head.

"I have no idea," Draco admitted. "I don't have people or things like that in my life. Big emotion like that…that's not something I can have."

Harry looked at him for a second, as if Draco was missing something obvious, before rolling his eyes.

"Draco Malfoy, you're so full of shit," Harry told him, as if it was a fact that could not be disputed.

"Excuse me?" Draco asked, indignation rising quickly.

"You may not have had many things like that before," Harry said, fixing him with that determined stare Draco was getting very warily acquainted with, "but you have me. I hereby take the position of Big Scary Emotion in your life."

"You can't just appoint yourself into my life," Draco argued, aware of his petulant tone.

"Oh, well, I just did," Harry replied, also reverting back to childhood, "and there's nothing you can do about it."

_Well, that's very true, _he thought wryly.

"I suppose not," he said, and Harry grinned. "But I still don't have many…_fond_ memories of you."

Harry's grin faded, but he shrugged in acquiesce. "There'll be time for that later," he said, throwing a smirk in Draco's direction, who blinked in rapid succession.

"God, Harry, that was awful," he laughed disbelievingly, and felt the still surprising rush of affection for Harry when the boy scowled.

"I thought it was okay," he mumbled, and Draco laughed harder.

"I mean, I practically set it up for you, so you don't even get points for originality," he continued, catching his breath, and Harry practically pouted.

"Well fine, George Clooney—I can teach you advanced magic and you can teach me all the ins and outs of pick-up lines," Harry snapped, and Draco continued to giggle.

"Who—who's _George Clooney_?"

"Oh, Jesus Christ, never mind."

Draco was bent over now, still laughing, Harry half-glaring, half-smiling at him from across the room.

"Now that we've gotten you loosened up a bit," Harry began, and Draco nodded, straightening up and fighting to regain his composure, "do you have a memory that you can think of?"

Draco took a deep breath, closing his eyes and really trying to think. The endorphins must have brought out some of the happier corners of his mind, and he suddenly recalled his tenth birthday, something he'd always considered as the fondest memory of his childhood. It was the night he'd been allowed on a broom for the first time. The feeling of his father's pride, his impending maturity and a noble new life at Hogwarts the next year—he had never been happier in his short life.

"I've got one," Draco said, eyes still closed.

"Good," Harry said. "The incantation is _Expecto Patronum_."

"_Expecto Patronum_," Draco tasted the words on his tongue, strangely liking the way they sounded.

"Exactly." He heard Harry's voice again, and it sounded pleased. "Concentrate on your memory."

_Sunshine, a wooden handle, a father's smile._

"Whenever you're ready, focus…and cast. Project."

Draco inhaled deeply, trying to cast up the pride he had felt at that moment and cast it outward as he raised his wand.

_"Expecto Patronum!"_ Draco exclaimed, his eyes flying open.

A ghost of a silver cloud misted from the tip of Draco's wand and then dissipated, and Draco's heart sank.

"It didn't work," he said, dismayed. "I told you it wouldn't work!"

"Draco, like most things, no one gets it on their first try." Harry reassured him, crossing the room and moving to stand behind him. He wrapped his arms around Draco's waist and dropped his head onto Draco's shoulder, and Draco slowly lowered his wand, relaxing into Harry's arms.

"No one survives the Killing Curse either," he replied, and cursed himself when he felt Harry stiffen behind him.

"Where did _that_ come from?" Harry asked, sounding a bit caught off guard.

Draco sighed. "I don't know. I'm sorry. I don't do well with failure."

Harry withdrew his arms and came around to face Draco.

"That was not a failure," he said, firmly, and Draco sighed. "It wasn't! It's an incredibly complex bit of magic. Even Hermione still has trouble with it, and she learned it in fifth year!"

"Okay, _fine_," Draco said, and Harry smiled supportively. "Maybe my memory wasn't strong enough."

"Well, what did you think about?" Harry asked.

"The first time I rode a broom," Draco answered.

Harry laughed. "You're fucking with me, right?"

"No," Draco snapped, defensive. "It's a great memory! Probably the best of my childhood!"

Harry watched him, chewing on his lip. "We're actually pretty similar," he said finally.

"What on earth makes you say that?"

"That was the memory I tried the first time. The first time I rode a broom." Harry explained, smiling at him.

"Oh, well, of course it was," Draco mumbled.

"Hey! Sharing similarities with me isn't a bad thing!" Harry exclaimed in mock offense, and Draco laughed.

"Of course not. But what was wrong with my memory?"

Harry thought for a moment. "It must not have been strong enough," he answered simply.

Draco deflated. "What will be?"

"Think of the most intense emotion you've ever felt," Harry told him. "You don't have to do this every time, it gets easier the more you cast it. That broom memory should do just fine eventually."

Draco nodded.

Harry moved closer until he was standing mere inches from Draco. He reached up and placed a hand on the side of Draco's face, his fingers pressing into Draco's temple.

"The memory comes from here, obviously," he began, "but you also have to feel it."

He placed a hand over Draco's heart.

"Sentimental," Draco snorted.

"Yeah, but it works. You have to put yourself in that scenario again, feel the emotions and intensity just as much as you originally did."

Harry lifted his eyes to meet Draco's, and an idea popped into Draco's mind.

"Well," Draco said, "this might not work, but I have something."

Harry smiled again and stepped away, retreating to the other side of the room.

There was one thing—or rather, one _person_, that had always been able to inspire his most dramatic brain chemistry, ignite the fire in him and turn his life around.

"You have more or less been the center of my life for a while now," Draco remarked, closing his eyes. "You have decided, whether or not you knew it, whether my day would be good or bad and you have dictated my apparent destiny."

He heard Harry's intake of breath but he did not open his eyes, just breathed deeply and raised his wand.

"For some reason I was under the ridiculous impression I would never see you again when you disappeared with Weasley and Granger," he continued. "How naive I was, wouldn't you say?"

Exhaling audibly again, Draco stopped talking and instead allowed himself to remember.

_Remember kneeling in front of him and recognizing the green of his eyes, _he told himself, and felt the swoop in his stomach as he recalled the sensation of his entire self being exposed, his whole future suddenly wide open.

"_Expecto Patronum_," Draco whispered, and gasped as a warm tingle shot from his chest through his arm and he could still feel it as it raced down his wand. He opened his eyes to see a foggy blue figure—a bird of some sort—take shape and actually _fly_ around the room before it burst into a plume of silvery blue fire and disappeared.

Draco stared at the spot where it been, transfixed.

"What was that?" he whispered.

"That was a phoenix, Draco," Harry whispered back, and Draco's eyes swiveled to him. He was looking at Draco with an expression of absolute wonder, pride and unadulterated affection. "Your Patronus is a phoenix."

And the next thing Draco knew Harry was on him, squeezing him tightly and kissing him—not especially heatedly, and definitely not slowly—just simply and happily, his arms around Draco's neck, and probably (if Draco could look and check), on his tiptoes.

The shock wore off quickly and Draco laughed into Harry's mouth, kissing him back, nipping at Harry's bottom lip with his teeth. Harry willingly parted his lips, entwining his tongue with Draco's, making Draco's heart stutter.

"Proud of me?" Draco murmured, breaking away.

"Immensely," Harry answered seriously, kissing him quickly again. "You're absolutely amazing, you know."

Draco flushed and then gasped as Harry's lips latched onto his neck and trailed kisses down the pillar of skin. His arms came down from Draco's neck to twist in his hair and grab his hip.

"Christ—Harry," Draco panted. "I'm—you're gonna make me fall over!"

Harry kissed his neck once more and pulled back, a smug look gleaming in his eyes. "_Am_ I?"

"Shut up," Draco breathed out, fighting back a smile.

Harry grinned at him.

"Although," Draco said, "Even though this house is currently devoid of furniture, I seem to remember somehow acquiring quite the couch downstairs?"

Harry's mouth popped open in surprise. Draco took pride in watching his face color, but he quickly regained his composure.

"I'm sure I'll just make you fall off of that too," he retorted, and suddenly Disapparated with Draco.

The first thing Harry was aware of was the end of an indignant sound of protest from Draco and the back of his shins hitting the side of the couch. He spun Draco around and pushed him into the green cushions.

"Potter, god, you can't just _do _that," Draco said dazedly, eyes locked onto Harry's as the brunet slowly climbed onto his lap.

"Well, I just did, so," Harry answered stubbornly, his mouth pulled up in a triumphant smile.

"You're ridiculous," Draco muttered, voice lowering as Harry's head tilted closer.

"And you're always saying that," came Harry's reply, and then he kissed Draco, if for no other reason than hearing his breath catch in surprise.

Kissing Draco was like celebrating the apocalypse.

It was like standing in the middle of a field as dust and fire swirls, head titled upwards towards the sky as if seeking salvation—while in reality just accepting damnation. Feeling an exhilarated sense of lack of fucks to give as cities crumble around you and leaders fall and damnation felt so much better than salvation ever could.

Who the fuck ever said one was better than the other?

He was loving certain doom.

His fingers scrambled at the hem of Draco's shirt, and the blond pulled away, gasping, to yank it off.

Harry sat back, something in his throat tightening at the sight of the exposed scars. Draco followed his gaze.

"They don't matter," he said, leaning forward to kiss Harry again, but Harry shook his head.

That's not how he wanted to treat it.

He drew his wand from his jeans pocket and transfigured the couch into a simple green bed, lowering Draco gently down on top of it.

Setting his wand aside, he hovered over Draco, watching Draco's chest rise and fall with every deep breath he took, the gray eyes widened and watching, fascinated.

He traced the length of one scar with a shaking finger before leaning down to kiss it, and Draco's mouth fell open.

"I'm sorry," Harry whispered, his voice sort of broken, and he kissed another one.

"It's—it's fine," Draco stuttered, flushing hot and feeling the sudden prickle of tears behind his eyes.

_God, what was Harry doing to him?_

As Harry's tongue peeked out to run down another, Draco shut his eyes, forcing the wetness to escape and trail down his cheeks.

"I—" he choked out, but stopped as more tears leaked out.

"Shhh," Harry quieted, coming up to bring his face level with Draco's. "I know, it's okay."

"You are _everything_," Draco whispered, eyes huge and honest. "Why are you _everything_?"

Harry blinked, lips parting. "I don't know," he answered truthfully. "But I'm sorry."

Draco laughed, wetly and happily. "It's quite alright, Harry."

He reached a hand to the back of Harry's neck and pulled him down in a bruising kiss, the brunet collapsing firmly on top of him, and Draco took the opportunity to hook a leg around his hip, bringing Harry into a better position.

He tugged at Harry's shirt, struggling to lift the fabric over the boy's head.

Harry broke away with a laugh, reaching down and tugging it over his head.

"Shut up," Draco muttered.

"I didn't say anything!" Harry giggled, and Draco rolled his eyes, reaching a hand down to firmly cup Harry's arse.

Harry's giggles suddenly turned into a gasp, and his eyes snapped back to Draco.

"Better," Draco commented, surging forward to capture Harry's lips again.

And God, was he hard.

Hard enough to where every drag of the fabric on his jeans and his boxers was some kind of beautiful agony as Harry kissed the life out of him, finally moving from his lips to his neck again.

Draco arched up, thrills sparking from the nerves in his skin, making him gasp in pleasure. He circled his hips, trying unconsciously to seek some friction, and was met with an answering thrust from Harry.

They both groaned in unison, momentarily stilling.

Their eyes found each other again, mouths open and lips trembling as Draco thrust up again.

"This isn't going to last long," Harry managed, head falling forward as he ground his hips with Draco's again.

"That's fine with me," Draco answered.

Pleasure was charging through him with each rut against Harry and it was building, tight and hot somewhere near his stomach, he couldn't think as he gasped and his hips stuttered. His name falling from Harry's lips in soft hisses was what finally did him in, something inside of his chest exploding into white-hot shards of crystalized fire.

Harry shuddered on top of him, and Draco forced his eyes open to stare up at Harry. Seeing that same look of falling apart made something flare up in his heart, totally submerging him in everything Harry and making an irreversible mark on Draco.

He kissed Harry through the rest of it and until their breathing finally returned to normal. Their heartbeats slowed and their kissing turned languid, lazily tasting each other, hands skimming up sides and down faces and backs.

Draco breathed deeply, kissed Harry, and wondered if this was what redemption felt like.

Harry continued to revel in his apocalypse.


	6. Chapter 6

Cleaning up after sex—_that was what that was, wasn't it_?—was actually fairly awkward, Harry discovered.

Even with the use of magic—and Harry had no idea _Scourgify_ could be used in the way he just used it—it was still embarrassing, and the charms were uttered quietly—well, except for Draco's laughter every time Harry blushed—and with red faces.

Harry was still in a sort of daze, his thoughts especially erratic as he lay next to Draco on the bed he had Transfigured, both of them still shirtless and suddenly tired.

"You know, like seven hours ago, you chased me down in a Muggle supermarket," Draco commented, and Harry blinked.

"We didn't have lunch," he realized, making Draco laugh again.

"I wasn't hungry. Were you?"

Harry shook his head, smiling for some reason. "As far as timelines go: for you and me, I'd say that's fairly reasonable."

Draco turned his head towards him. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, where were we a week ago?"

Draco raised his eyebrows, looking thoughtful.

"I was still scared shitless and wondering if you were about to turn up dead any day," he answered, perhaps more honestly than necessary. Harry dropped his gaze. "I was entertaining the possibility of my entire family being killed any minute, as well. But I never imagined this."

Harry smirked. "Whoops."

They lay there grinning for a few more moments before Draco finally felt the need to drag them back into reality.

"You're going to contact Ron about Gringotts, aren't you?"

Harry nodded. "There's someone at Shell Cottage that I think would be enormously helpful."

"Griphook?"

"Yeah. I know it's risky, but I think we just have to take that chance. He knows me, and he likes me. He doesn't want to see You-Know-Who win this war either."

"Okay," Draco said. "And you think that there's a Horcrux in Aunt Bellatrix's vault?"

"Yes," Harry affirmed.

"Which one?"

"I was actually hoping you could help me with that one," Harry answered sheepishly, suddenly feeling a bit embarrassed.

Draco sat up, looking at him perplexedly. "How?"

"Well, you know her," Harry pointed out. "Do you know anything about her vault? What might be in it?"

"I know the protection in it," Draco answered, blinking as though he had just remembered something. "She updated it a few months ago per You-Know-Who's request."

"What is it?" Harry asked, unsure whether or not to be relieved or more terrified. He settled for a strange combination of both.

"Everything you touch splits into burning multiples," Draco answered, eyes faraway. "The idea is to basically bury the thief in scalding metal."

Harry's heart sunk, and his blood turned cold. It suddenly occurred to him how absolutely impossible this would be—_Fuck, _they were going to die.

"I don't know the curse exactly," Draco was saying, looking down at him worriedly as if trying to reassure him. "But if I could find out what it was, I could learn the counter curse."

"Hermione has books," Harry said, his fear suddenly clearing at the possibility of solving a problem. "She has a fucking library in that bag, I bet we could find something."

Draco smiled, his eyes a bit bemused.

"What?"

"You're nearly impossible," he said, "but not totally."

Harry grinned. "That's the best I get, unfortunately."

Draco suddenly flipped over so he was hovering over Harry on the bed, his face inches from Harry's.

"I think I quite love it anyway," he whispered, ducking down to kiss Harry quickly.

Harry's heart stopped and he stared at Draco, stunned, as the blond climbed off and stood up. He watched, his mind blank, as Draco retrieved his shirt and walked towards the doorway.

"I'm going to make food," he called over his shoulder, sauntering out the door.

Draco made it all the way into the kitchen before he realized what the fuck he had just said.

_Oh shit_, he thought, whirling around, even though he knew he was alone in the room. _Oh, fuck. Fucking shit. Fuck._

He had basically just implied he was in love with Harry Potter, to Harry Potter's face, and then kissed him. That _had _happened, hadn't it? That was why Harry had looked at him like that? Like Albus Dumbledore had suddenly come waltzing in naked?

_Okay, bad example._

How did that even happen? He hadn't meant to do that. He hadn't meant to say anything _like_ that.

But it was evident now in the terror and anticipation that he felt running deep within him that he _had_ meant it.

He hadn't meant to _say _it, but he meant it when he did.

_That makes sense_, he told himself sarcastically, and groaned.

And what of Harry? No matter what he was thinking right now, Harry was probably pacing around the living room, thinking of the nicest way to tell Draco he was insane.

Because even if Draco did fancy himself in love with Harry Potter—the pure fact itself was completely absurd. They had been _involved_, so to say, for less than twenty-four hours. Fuck, less than _twelve_. Friendly, even, for less than a week.

It was impossible to love that quickly.

So how long had it actually been?

_"I think I can tell the wrong sort for myself, thanks."_

Draco sighed and shut his eyes, letting his body slump against the kitchen counters.

How do you trace back a feeling? How do you follow it to its contraception?

_The feeling of being completely thrown. Unbalanced._

How does that even translate into love?

_He followed him through the castle twice—pitch black—that year._

Someone making an impression on you is one thing-

_"Scared, Potter?"_

_Of course he fucking wasn't._

_-_but loving them instantly was quite another.

_Fourth year—of course, but that was when it all started to go to shit anyway. Sexuality crisis and all._

_And the dragons—should have been his first clue. He'd never been that fucking scared._

_It seemed his heart hadn't even dared to beat as he watched Harry in that tournament._

He had to concede that it made a bit of sense, actually.

_Fifth year—watching Harry go a little bit insane. Heart a little bit broken._

_Heart breaking a little for him._

Hadn't he always sort of loved Harry? Loved him since he was a child, the mysterious stories, the vague but strong sense of heroism? Hated him because he could never get close enough?

_Sixth year—the worst of his life. The obsession Harry suddenly had with him—how no one should be that distracting-_

"Draco?"

Draco's head snapped up to see Harry standing hesitantly in the doorway, arms crossed and eyes guarded.

_Shit._

"I'm sorry," Draco apologized immediately, an instinct still startlingly new to him.

"So you _do _realize what you said," Harry sighed, and his posture relaxed a little bit.

"Yes, and I didn't mean to," Draco replied, wording it carefully. It wouldn't do to lie.

"Did you…mean _it_, though?"

_Un-fucking-believable._

Damn Potter and his selective clairvoyance.

Draco chose not to answer.

"I want to know what I mean to you," Harry said softly, his arms dropping by his sides.

Draco met his eyes, searching.

_It wouldn't do to lie._

"I don't know exactly how someone would measure something like that," Draco answered slowly, honestly. "Evidently, you mean more than…life. You mean enough that I would do anything you tell me to do."

Harry's eyes darkened, the shields coming down. He stepped closer.

"You mean more than my sins," Draco added, somehow meeting Harry in the middle. "That means a whole fucking lot, for someone to be that…much. I meant it when I said it—you mean _everything_ to me."

Harry reached out for his hands, taking each in one of his. He pulled Draco in close.

"I love you too," he said, and Draco froze.

"I—I love you, don't I?"

"For how long?"

A pause.

_"I think I can tell the wrong sort for myself, thanks."_

Draco looked up.

"Since…since always, somehow," he whispered, feeling the ridiculous urge to cry.

Harry cupped his face in his hands. "Seems about right."

"Just kiss me, will you?"

Harry did.

* * *

><p>Harry figured it was the same sort of feeling you get when something's ultimately really easy to understand and you finally understand it—kind of sheepish, but overall just incredibly relieved.<p>

Maybe if he had an audience, someone would stand up and yell: "_Finally!"_

* * *

><p>After dinner—when it finally got made—Harry and Draco found themselves in the room that had evidently become a sort of practice room for Draco's Patronus lessons.<p>

"It needs to be fully corporeal before we can use it to send a message," Harry said, and even though Draco knew this had to be learned and proficient as soon as possible, Harry's voice held no sense of urgency. He really was a fantastic teacher.

Draco took a deep breath, summoning a different memory—the first time Harry kissed him—and raised his wand.

"_Expecto Patronum_," he said clearly, opening his eyes to see the blue phoenix burst from his wand.

It was almost fully formed, but the wings were hazy and he couldn't retain it for more than a few moments. Draco frowned in disappointment as it disappeared.

"This is hard," he said, a bit thickly.

"It's not supposed to be easy," Harry answered easily. "You're doing great."

Draco reveled in Harry's smile for a moment for raising his wand to cast it again.

"_Expecto Patronum_," he murmured, his mind still full of Harry, and the phoenix soared from the tip of his wand. He almost shouted in pride as he saw the perfectly formed bird fly around the entire room. He willed it to encircle Harry, and it did, the sight of it filling them both him an infectious happiness.

"Draco! You did it!" Harry shouted, laughing, reaching his hand up as if he was going to pet the bird.

Draco watched him, grinning, and felt for the first time that everything really could be okay.

"How do I send a message with it?" Draco asked as it faded into nonexistence.

Harry grinned at him.

* * *

><p>"Where…where is Harry?" Hermione Granger asked softly, still smiling dimly at Ron.<p>

Ron's heart sank.

Hermione was showing signs of steady improvement—quicker, in fact, than most of the patients in her state. But any brain recovery was slow work, and she was still only conscious for upwards of an hour at a time. She was retaining small bits of information but missing out on the bigger things—no matter how many times they were repeated to her. She had been informed of Harry's absence, but seemed to keep forgetting it every time she woke up again.

She had registered how she ended up in her state, and she knew that she was sick. She could remember and recall everything that had happened to her up until she had initially lost consciousness. She couldn't sense time elapsing—to her, it had been mere hours since they had arrived.

A Healer had assessed her yesterday, and was able to assure them with relative confidence that she should recover fully.

"But," she had said gravely, "only time will truly tell."

Ron took her hand and pasted on a smile. "He had to go take care of some stuff," he answered, and he could sense Hermione's dissatisfaction with the answer. It reassured him—she was still herself, even under her injury.

"Is he safe?"

"He has someone with him," Ron replied carefully, unable to stop his smile from flickering. "They're looking out for each other."

Hermione nodded, blinking slowly.

Ron sighed inwardly. She would be asleep again soon.

He answered a few more of her questions before she was out, sighing softly and closing her eyes in sleep.

He watched her for a few moments before sitting back in the chair he had barely moved from in days.

His mind drifted back to Harry again, and whether Malfoy was even still with him or not. There had been no mention or update on either of them from any of their sources, and Ron had to wonder what they were doing. Was he keeping Malfoy locked up somewhere while he tried to figure out what to do? Probably not, judging by Harry's usual character and the way he was acting around Malfoy for the short time he had been here.

Feeling the familiar sense of guilt creep up in him every time he thought of Harry and what he was doing, he looked back down at Hermione.

Harry understood, right? Understood he couldn't leave her. Not again.

Ron sighed again. Maybe he should sleep too.

Or…maybe he _was_ asleep?

How else would one explain the blue flame phoenix that suddenly swept in from the window, soaring around the room before landing on the bed beside Hermione, facing Ron?

Ron shook himself. It was obviously a Patronus—but one he didn't recognize.

Well, not until Draco Malfoy's voice sounded clearly from it, Ron automatically tensing in response.

"_Weasley_," it said, "_Harry and I are both safe. We are in the stages of planning for acquiring the next Horcrux, and we need you to send Griphook to the Cornelissen house in Amsterdam. Tell everyone we're okay."_

With that, the phoenix burst into flame and disappeared, leaving Ron and the still-sleeping Hermione alone again.

Ron sat back, stunned. In his worried and addled state, his thoughts weren't coming clearly, details and questions and confusions firing around in his brain in no particular order.

He forced himself to organize his thoughts—he apparently had a task Harry needed him to do. And that was…to send Griphook to some house in _Amsterdam_?

He looked uneasily in the direction of the goblin's room. He had no idea if Griphook was even well enough for travel, never mind the possibility of helping Draco Malfoy. Granted, that Draco Malfoy also apparently came with a certain Harry Potter, but all of that raised the question of what they even wanted with Griphook in the first place.

Griphook was somehow going to aid them in getting the next Horcrux—and right, Malfoy knows about Horcruxes now—through what Ron assumed was some special knowledge the goblin had.

He stood, glancing once more at Hermione before going to see Griphook.

He found the goblin thankfully awake, staring thoughtfully out of the window.

Clearing his throat, he knocked on the open door.

"Mr. Ronald Weasley," Griphook drawled, without turning his gaze from the window. "What service may I be to you?"

"How…how, er, are you doing?" Ron tried, an uneasy smile on his face.

"I have been better," the goblin replied, turning his beady eyes onto Ron. "I repeat: what service may I be to you?"

Ron felt a prickle of irritation, but forced himself to keep it out of his voice. "I…I just received a message from Harry," he answered, deciding to cut the rest of the small talk. "He seems to need your help with something."

"With what?"

"I…I don't know," Ron replied sheepishly, and the goblin's eyes narrowed. "It's something to do with helping defeat You-Know-Who."

"And why would I want to help a wizard?"

"Because he's trying to save your arse!" Ron shot back hotly. "He's trying to save all our arses, actually. Look, I know some wizards have done some pretty bad shit to you and your kind—but Harry's not them."

Griphook was silent for a moment. He looked back out the window.

"Harry Potter is a very unusual wizard," he said.

Ron rolled his eyes. "You're telling me, mate," he muttered.

"Is Mister Harry Potter coming here?"

"No. He gave me an address—he wants you to go to a house in Amsterdam," Ron replied, trying to remember the name. "The Corn…er—hang on, the…Co—corny…"

"The Cornelissens?"

"Yes! You know them?"

"All goblins know of all rich Wizarding families, Mr. Weasley. What confuses me is the location—the house in Amsterdam has been vacant for—" Griphook paused, leaning back into his pillows. "Ah. Mr. Malfoy is cleverer than I thought, it seems."

Ron blinked. "Right," he said. "Of course he is. Are you going?"

Griphook searched him for a moment before answering.

"Yes," he said simply.

"Great," Ron answered, relieved. "I'll tell Harry."

* * *

><p>It wasn't long before Ron's Russell terrier had bounded into the kitchen, and Harry and Draco both sat up straighter in expectation.<p>

"_Harry—and Malfoy-Griphook has agreed to help and should be there at ten next morning. Hermione getting better—I'm still staying. Just be relatively safe, okay?"_

Harry couldn't help but laugh at the last part as the Patronus disappeared.

He was going to be as safe as a Gringotts break-in could be, right?

As if the thought of Gringotts had suddenly brought him back to reality, he remembered with a clench of anxiety that Griphook more or less held their fate in his hands. If he wasn't receptive to the plan, Draco and Harry would have to stage a break-in on their own, knowing next to nothing about how to do it. Would he go back to Shell Cottage? Would he request to be protected here? Would he try and stop them?

Harry glanced at the clock. They had a little over twelve hours before Griphook was set to arrive.

It had long since darkened outside, and they had chosen to charm the light instead of lighting torches or whatever other absurd lighting system the house was equipped with.

Neither one of them had spoken, and an uneasy silence filled the air.

"It'll be okay," Harry spoke, trying to fill the void. "We get through everything."

"How can you be so confident everything will go right?" Draco asked, disbelieving.

Harry laughed, walking over to where the blond had stood up. He wrapped an arm around Draco's waist, squeezing gently.

"Oh, don't get me wrong, everything will completely go to fucking flaming hell when we get there," Harry said, and Draco looked at him in alarm. "but we always get through that part."

Draco half-smiled. "Alright."

With a rush of exhaustion, Harry realized he had nothing he could do until Griphook got there. For the first time since they arrived, they were out of things they had to do.

And he was fucking _tired_. The Snatchers incident had been early that same morning, which was just hours before the fateful firelight conversation, which immediately followed that damned haircut, the rabbit, the Horcruxes, and it had been little more than a day since the moment he realized he could trust Draco entirely.

God, their timeline was fucked. It felt like he'd been with Draco for weeks. Months.

"I'm tired," Harry announced, and he could feel Draco sag against him.

"God, me too. Are we just going to sleep in the living room?"

Harry nodded. "I don't want to try and conjure another bed. We can do that tomorrow."

"We'll have to for Griphook."

Harry groaned. "Don't remind me. Just sleep. Bed. Now."

Draco snorted. "Well, come on then, Potter."

They made their way into the adjacent living room and left the light of the charm they had cast. The only light they had now came from the thick ribbons of moonlight streaming in from the wide windows behind the bed.

Harry immediately flopped down onto the bed, knocking his glasses askew.

"Are you not going to change?" Draco asked, and Harry looked down at his fully clothed body. He took off his glasses, folded them in his pocket, and then reached down to unbutton his jeans. He shoved them over his hips and let them fall the floor before climbing into bed.

Draco's lips parted and he sucked in a breath as if in hesitation, but he soon shrugged and followed suit.

Harry felt rather than saw Draco slide into bed next to him, and he realized with a jolt to his system that he was about to sleep with Draco Malfoy. Like, actually _sleep_.

The boy he was in love with, the boy suddenly in the absolute forefront of his life, the boy he would suddenly go to any number of lengths for, falling asleep right next to him.

He turned on his side, facing Draco. The boy had already closed his eyes, head tilted towards Harry and hair careless, as Draco must have gotten used to it being.

Harry was fully aware of the cliche as he stared at the planes of Draco's face, softened by relaxation and the moonlight behind them. But he really was beautiful, sharp curves of his face balanced by soft ones, chest rising and falling gently, and Harry loved him.

"Are you just going to stare at me all night?" Draco asked suddenly, cracking one silver eye open and startling Harry. He flushed, dropping his gaze. Draco laughed suddenly. "I'm not complaining, per say, but you did say you were tired."

"I am," Harry affirmed, and moved closer to wrap Draco in his arms. "And I also love you."

He smiled at Draco's intake of breath. "I love you too," he heard the blond say, after a moment.

The words felt strange to say for both of them, but they were strange in a way that makes you excited to keep saying them so you get used to them.

"I know. Go to sleep," Harry instructed, kissing the top of his head.

They did.

* * *

><p><em>"Draco Malfoy has not been found…it is believed he is still with Harry Potter."<em>

_He was in…a basement. Some sort of stone-walled cellar—one slit high in one wall serving as a window._

_A figure in dark robes in the middle._

_"How touching, don't you think? I quite like redemption stories." A high, cold voice continued with a mockingly interested air, amidst the whimpers and sounds of a woman crying._

_Harry's eyes adjusted to the dark cell, barely lit by moonlight and whatever evil light Voldemort was giving off. Whatever it was, it wasn't enough to reach the blurry figure of a woman cowering in the corner, as far away from the dark wizard as she could get._

_"You, of all people, know that I do not take lightly to traitors. Lucius's failing was disappointment enough. It seems the Malfoy line does not stand for anything anymore."_

_"P—please," the woman whispered hoarsely, the sound trembling and desperate and terrified. She lifted her face to the light and Harry recognized Narcissa Malfoy, dirty and gaunt, with a shock. "Draco—it was a mistake, I'm sure of it! We—we are faithful—"_

_"Silence," Voldemort hissed, and Narcissa fell silent as suddenly as if she had been cursed. "You lie! CRUCIO!"_

_Narcissa screamed as the curse hit her, and it rebounded all around the stone dungeon, broken and hoarse. Her body twisted and writhed, shaking and old and frail, bending unnaturally and contorting painfully._

_Harry felt nauseous, his eyes glued to the gruesome look on Narcissa's face as Voldemort continued to torture her._

_"Bellatrix tells me you entrusted Severus to kill Dumbledore last year, all in fear of your precious son." Voldemort says, finally lifting the curse, and she sagged to the floor, breathing hard and unsteadily. "This was betrayal too, Narcissa. Such is the fashion, it seems. Like mother, like son, the saying should go."_

_"Not—true—" Narcissa was whispering._

_"CRUCIO!"_

_Narcissa screamed and screamed, and Harry could not look away._

_"I keep Lucius because he is still useful to me," Voldemort hissed, when he had relented. "He is too pathetic to be any danger. The same cannot be said for your son, unfortunately. He will die, just as surely as you will."_

_Narcissa sat up then, pushing her weakened form off of the stone floor to face Voldemort full-on._

_"My son is more to me than you ever will be," she spat, her eyes wide and suddenly vicious, and Voldemort's face twisted. "You will NEVER get to him!"_

_Voldemort moved forward as if to seize her, but abruptly stopped. A calm look overtook him then, and he settled back, raising his wand lazily._

_Narcissa watched him, chest heaving, hair wild, eyes terrified and raging._

_"I disagree," Voldemort said. "AVADA KEDAVRA!"_

Harry woke, violent and sudden, heart slamming against his chest, the blaze of green light imprinted behind his eyelids and Narcissa Malfoy's last scream ringing in his ears. He sat up quickly, trying to rid his mind of the frenzy it was in, accidentally knocking Draco's arms free of him in the process.

He was shaking—he heard Draco stir and start to wake up and realized with a panic that he would have to tell Draco his mother was dead—or, at least, going to be soon—

"Harry?"

Draco's sleepy whisper sounded behind him and he cringed.

This, of course, could all be a trick. It could be a trick like Sirius was a trick, and Narcissa was still perfectly safe—well, as safe as she had been.

There could be no reason to tell Draco anything.

And of course, Harry realized with a sinking heart, therein lay the challenge.

Voldemort was _challenging _him.

He had a choice: tell Draco, and risk the consequences of his grief and anger. Or he could not tell Draco, and risk nothing but guilt and the probable chance of a fallout.

He glanced at Draco, who had sat up despite Harry's lack of reply and was looking at him with concerned eyes. He was still trying to blink the sleep from them.

"Did you have a nightmare?" Draco asked, words a bit slurred, and Harry sighed.

"Not exactly," he replied. "Come into the kitchen with me. I need to tell you something."

When they had both pulled on their jeans and cast a Tempus Charm—it was just past three in the morning—they padded uneasily into the kitchen, taking a seat at the table.

"Okay," Harry began, "so, I kind of have this sort of mental connection with You-Know-Who."

Draco blinked. "Okay," he accepted, brows furrowed. "Why isn't that a bigger deal?"

"It is a big deal, that's the thing," Harry sighed. "It's a huge deal. See, when You-Know-Who tried to kill me that first time, and failed—"

"Am I ever going to get the story on that?"

"Later—he accidentally transferred a lot of his power into me. That's why I can speak Parseltongue, actually."

"Oh, perfect. You have some of You-Know-Who in you," Draco made a face.

"Well, sometimes it can be used to my advantage. See, until fifth year, the only thing that really ever happened was it would…hurt. When he was near, or something. Like that time in the Forbidden Forest in first year, with you—"

"That was HIM?!" Draco leapt backwards, eyes flying wide open, all traces of sleep gone.

"Well, yeah," Harry replied, startled. "You didn't know that?"

"No!"

"Oh. Sorry. Anyway—nothing really huge happened with it until fifth year. Well, a few dreams, maybe errant emotions, but it was nothing compared to the visions."

Draco paled. "The…the visions?"

"Yeah. I can't control it. I just get them—people he's killing or talking to, things he's trying to get or find out—that sort of thing. It got horrible in fifth year, and everyone was telling me how dangerous it was, and we didn't even know if You-Know-Who even knew it was there. He didn't seem to, and he didn't seem to be getting any of _my _stuff, so we figured we were safe. Snape started me on Occlumency lessons—_that_ didn't go well, as you can imagine."

"So…you just _gave up_?" Draco asked, a hint of anger in his voice.

"No, not exactly—I kind of started to lie, make up progress where there was none—and then Snape quit the lessons after a particularly bad session—and then, apparently, You-Know-Who became aware of it." Harry finished quietly, looking up at Draco, who was still watching him with a horrified expression. It was key he understood this next part before Harry could tell him what he saw.

"So, the visions stopped or something?" Draco asked hesitantly.

Harry grimaced. "No. He used it to try and get to me."

"…How?"

Harry took a deep breath, feeling the only somewhat dulled sensation of grief and guilt that came with recalling the events leading up to Sirius's death.

"He gave me a false vision," he answered in a forced monotone, closing his eyes. "Sirius—we were hiding him at the time, and he showed me Sirius being tortured and him trying to kill him—and I went to try and save him."

"The Department of Mysteries," Draco breathed, leaning back in his chair. Harry nodded, eyes still closed.

"He wasn't there, obviously; we were met instead by a bunch of Death Eaters. Sirius, along with the Order, came and tried to rescue us, and that's when Bellatrix killed him." Harry's voice broke on the last part, and he felt the familiar rush of cold and ache as he remembered it all—_"Nice one, James,"_—and forced himself to continue.

"The thing is, though," he pressed on, opening his eyes and staring intently at Draco, "there was no way for me to tell the difference between the fake vision and a real one. There's no difference between the two—one's simply true and one's not."

Draco's look of sympathy changed to caution.

"And you had a vision in your sleep," he guessed, and Harry nodded. "What did you see?"

Harry made himself maintain eye contact. "Your mother," he answered, and Draco's expression went slack.

"What—what happened?" he whispered.

"He was…talking to her…saying how you had betrayed him…and _she_ had betrayed him…" Harry sucked in a breath, his eyes screwing shut as the terror and nausea welled up in him again. "He tortured her—"

Draco made some sort of choking sound.

"Harry," he gasped, whiter than Harry had ever seen him, "is my mother…is she dead?"

Harry got up immediately and went around the table to hold Draco's hands in his own as he thought of a way to answer.

"Draco, I'm sorry," he whispered, and Draco cried out, tears welling up in his eyes. "In the vision, he…he killed her."

"But—" Draco stammered, shaking, and Harry grasped his hands tighter, "but you said it was fake, right? A f-fake vision?"

"It _could _be," Harry corrected gently. "I don't know."

"What do we do, then?" Draco sniffed, wiping his eyes and seemingly trying to compose himself.

"I don't know," Harry said again, opting for total honesty.

"Well, what do you _normally_ do?" Draco hissed, pulling his hand from Harry's. Harry jumped, bewildered. "The only reason you're not staging some insane Gryffindor rescue mission is because of who she is! She's my mother, she's a _Death Eater_!"

"Did you even listen to me at all?!" Harry shot back hotly. "The last time we did that, _my Godfather died_. Because it was a _trap_!"

"WHAT IF IT ISN'T? YOU DON'T CARE ENOUGH!"

"That's not true!"

"Would you have rescued _me_, if it was me in that cellar too?"

"Of course I would have!"

"Then GET MY MOTHER TOO!" Draco screamed, and flung himself away from Harry.

Harry let out a hard breath, pressing down his anger.

Draco wasn't thinking clearly, he knew that. Harry never thought clearly either in the face of tragedy, and one of the only people Draco has ever cared about might be dead.

But now he was moving towards the door—not to the living room, but to the first floor—and that filled Harry with alarm.

"Draco," Harry tried, standing quickly up. Draco whirled around.

"I'm going to get her. I don't care if you're coming or not!"

"Draco!" Harry ran up to him as Draco darted out of his reach. "Draco, listen to me!"

He grabbed Draco's wrist and pulled him back, wincing when Draco hissed in pain.

"I'm sorry, but you have to listen to me!"

"_What_?" Draco snapped, ceasing his struggles and staring challengingly down at Harry.

"Your mother is either dead or she is _fine_," Harry said, meeting Draco's harsh stare with a gaze equally as firm. "Say the vision was true—what's next? We go get her body?"

"What if he's _going_ to kill her?"

"He'd kill any one of them at a moment's notice! Going there now isn't going to change that. I'm sorry, Draco, but if we go there we'll die, and I'm not going to let you die."

Draco tried to pull himself free.

"Draco. Are you going to let _me_ die?"

Draco's eyes snapped to him. "No," he replied automatically.

"I'm sorry, Draco, but we _can't go_."

Draco exhaled, eyes clearing. He slumped against Harry, letting him lead him away from the door and back out of the kitchen.

They made it back to their makeshift room without further incident, Draco's breathing pattern steadying as they walked.

"You know, Snape taught me Occlumency as well," Draco said, climbing onto the mattress.

Harry blinked, both in surprise and relief at Draco's calmness. "Really?"

"Yeah. It was very successful—though I can imagine why your lessons with him didn't work out. If this is going to continue to be a problem—I mean, I bet I could teach you."

Harry looked at him in surprise. "That would actually help a lot," he replied. "Why didn't you kidnap me sooner?"

Draco smirked. "I had to wait until you were cute enough."

Harry laughed. "Joke's on you. I never got cute."

"I realized that, unfortunately."

Harry shoved him playfully before settling back in to sleep, holding on to Draco a little more tightly than necessary.

* * *

><p><em>"Draco Malfoy has not been found…it is believed he is still with Harry Potter. How touching…"<em>

_"You, of all people, know that I do not take lightly to traitors…"_

_"The same cannot be said for your son, unfortunately. He will die…"_

_"You will NEVER get to him!"_

_"I disagree…"_

Harry's eyes snapped open, and he was greeted with the dim and young light of the early morning. Draco was still heavily asleep and mercifully still there, wrapped around Harry, his head tucked under Harry's chin.

Harry's heart was thundering in his chest, horror creeping in to the corners of his mind.

He finally realized the true duality of his vision.

Voldemort now had a new way of getting to Harry—and now a new target for revenge.

Harry had no idea how much Voldemort knew—or guessed—about Harry and Draco (and the evidence was apparently fairly damning), but he seemed to think Draco now fell under the list of People Harry Potter Cared About.

It had been a warning for Draco just as much as it had been a warning for him.


	7. Chapter 7

The Cornelisson estate looked much more impressive in the morning light than it had in the waning evening, this time with the birds twittering in the still-growing garden and the sun sparkling off the stones that made up the facade of the house.

Harry was observing it all with an absent appreciation, most of his attention focused on the impending arrival of Griphook, who would be waiting for them in the alley they had originally landed in in less than five minutes.

"This is incredibly risky," Draco commented unhelpfully.

Harry sighed. "It's the best chance we've got," he replied, repeating the mantra that had been running through his mind all morning.

The first thing they had done when they had both woken up was move the bed up to a random empty room on the second floor, and conjured another one in a room on the first floor for Griphook. Inspired, they had refurnished the house with simple furniture in the name of hospitality, Draco making the pieces as stately as he could, sensing Harry's anxiety to make a good impression.

Griphook's satisfaction was absolutely key.

"Are you sure he should see me right away?" Draco asked him, not for the first times, as they stood together, keeping his voice neutral and his eyes on the grass at his feet.

"He already knows you're here," Harry reasoned. "If I hide you, it might be a bit suspicious."

"Harry, I was part of the force that imprisoned him," Draco argued, even though he knew he was just repeating the debate they'd already had.

"You're not anymore, though."

"You think that matters to him?" Draco grumbled, exasperated, even though a small part of him was secretly very pleased Harry seemed so adamant on presenting him as a part of his team.

"He likes me, and he'll learn to like you." Harry said firmly, and Draco knew the discussion was over.

Nothing to do now but wait.

The Tempus charm they had cast rang out the changing of the hour, and Draco and Harry glanced uneasily at one another. Draco's face softened and he tried on a reassuring smile, for which Harry seemed grateful.

They joined hands and stepped through the garden wall.

After the familiar sucking sensation and the still ungraceful deposit of bodies on the other side, they stumbled to their feet and immediately looked around for an early arrival of the goblin. They remained alone.

It was a rainy day, luckily—they would have more cover from wandering Muggle (or even wizard) eyes. Two teenage boys stumbling around in an alleyway saying things that don't make sense is much easier to excuse than an actual, physical goblin appearing out of nowhere.

Draco blinked, and wondered if Griphook would be coming alone.

"Is Weasley coming to drop him off?"

Harry looked round at him. "Oh, er—I don't know," he admitted, worry creasing his face.

Another minute passed before the expected but still sudden crack sounded through the air, masked slightly by the sheet of rain coming down outside of the covered alleyway.

There, standing haughty and stiff in front of the boys, was Griphook, one hand clutching a small bag of clothes and the other pressed against his ribcage. Draco wondered with a pang of guilt if he was in any pain.

"Griphook," Harry greeted, relatively warmly and obviously relieved. "Thank you so much for coming."

Draco offered an awkward and hesitant smile, deciding to let Harry 'introduce' him.

Griphook nodded once. "Mr. Potter," he replied. "Mr. Malfoy."

Draco blinked in surprise, hope rising in his chest as he hurriedly returned the nod.

"Er, shall we get back to the house?" Harry suggested, his eyes darting around to their open surroundings.

"I think that would be wise," Griphook agreed, and fell into step behind Harry.

"I have to do this part," Draco interjected apologetically, and Griphook raised his chin, peering at Draco with an unreadable expression.

"You've never been given permission to enter, but I have direct permission from the family, so I have to lead you in first," Draco explained apologetically, trying to look like he completely resented having to lead the goblin anywhere (which, honestly, he really did).

Griphook gave another curt nod, and Draco let out a subtle breath of relief. Harry smiled at him encouragingly.

Draco placed his hand on the cement wall, watching it begin to activate. He held out his other hand for Griphook to grab onto, and with some hesitation, was successful, even if the goblin's nails were digging a bit harder than necessary into the back of his hand.

Harry went through on his own, and they were all pulled through unpleasantly in a manner that seemed much slower than usual.

Once they were free, Draco's eyes (and Harry's) went immediately to Griphook to assess his reaction. Personally, Draco found it to be much more impressive than Shell Cottage, but he could not speak for Griphook, goblins' thirst for treasure and riches aside.

"This is not what I expected the Cornelissen estate to be, given their enormous wealth." Griphook commented, and Draco noted Harry's audible intake of breath.

"Is it...alright?" the brunet asked, gazing anxiously from the mansion to the goblin in a way that reminded Draco oddly of a stressed out Granger.

"I like it," Griphook decided, and Draco smiled at Harry.

"Onwards, then?" Draco pressed, feeling bolder, and received another signature nod.

Harry decided to show Griphook to his room first, trying subtlety to let the goblin know how incredibly valued he was to them.

Honestly, he had no idea if pomp and flattery was the right way to a goblin's heart, but in the limited experience he had with them he knew they liked to feel like they were belonging of something—whether that be knowledge or gold.

"Does the family know of your presence here?" Griphook asked, setting his bag down in his new lodgings without commenting on them.

Harry glanced at Draco, who swallowed nervously before speaking.

"Only their son, Alexander. He has been sworn to secrecy, I assure you."

Griphook nodded in apparent satisfaction and Harry wondered if the sudden return to the stately flow and vocabulary of Draco's voice was a conscious and psychological choice or more of a defense mechanism.

Not wanting anyone to be on the offensive, Harry decided that maybe they should let the goblin acclimate to his surroundings before they sprung their incredibly sensitive plan onto him.

"Would you—er, are you alright…with everything?" he asked, chewing on him bottom lip.

"I would like some rest before I consider whatever it is you are needing my assistance with," Griphook replied, climbing into the bed and settling under the covers.

"Of course," Harry replied hurriedly, and he and Draco quickly retreated from the room.

"That went well," Draco murmured to Harry as he shut the door carefully behind them.

"It did," Harry agreed. He was so relieved that Griphook had even showed up ready and relatively willing that he didn't really realize until then how stressed out he had been.

And it was odd, wasn't it? Harry was unlikely to be deterred or worried over a minor detail—and he had a fairly loose ability to apply the adjective _minor_—so why did this bother him so much?

It felt like there was something blocking half his thoughts, trying to stop the part of his brain responsible for calming him down. It felt like he was repressing something.

Perhaps against his better judgment, Harry decided to take a nap as well. Draco declined to join him, just kissed him lightly on the lips and promising not to go outside the wall.

Harry found their bedroom with only a little difficulty, growing more and more tired with each passing second.

He sank down onto the bed and was asleep almost immediately—it was like a sudden dam bursting open.

_The Elder Wand._

He had forgotten about the Elder Wand.

How could he have remembered? With something as completely unexpected and sudden as Draco Malfoy back in the forefront of his life (and therefore, his mind), could he really concentrate on a half-baked theory he now had no way of proving?

But Voldemort was after it, he was sure of it now. Ollivander must have told him of its existence, believing it was real or not, and told him also of the last person he knew that had it.

And he remembered with the sensation of clicking puzzle pieces the vision he had of the old man in the cell—Gregorovitch—and how the Elder Wand must have been stolen from him by Grindelwald, and finally passed, after the fateful duel, into the possession of Dumbledore.

And there it lay, its final—

_He was at the gates of Hogwarts. Standing on the banks of the Great Lake and looking around at the only landscape he could have called him, his true birthplace, and the smear of white that ruined it._

_The tomb of Albus Dumbledore._

Harry sat up, chest heaving.

He almost cried for Draco, almost ran to grab Bellatrix's wand and Disapparated right then.

But just as the grave of his former headmaster was seared onto the inside of his eyelids, he recalled his task with a clear decision snapping into his conscious.

Storming the castle with his boyfriend and perhaps a wounded goblin to face up against Voldemort, the recent acquirer of the Elder Wand, would be among the stupidest things he'd ever done.

And he had promised the memory of Dumbledore, himself and Hermione that he would focus on the Horcruxes. His task and his destiny did not lie with the Hallows.

That had been Dumbledore's mistake, hadn't it?

He was to stay here. He was to do things according to plan.

Still, even though he knew he had made the right decision, Harry could not help the guilt and self-berating that came with him doing nothing. The course of action was unfamiliar and didn't sit right with him, though it helped to think that Hermione would probably be proud of him.

He just felt like he had let Voldemort take the wand.

"Are you alright?"

Harry jumped violently and yanked his head up to the doorway, relaxing at the sight of a worried Draco hovering by the entrance.

"Voldemort has the Elder Wand," Harry said, watching Draco carefully.

Draco laughed shortly, walking into the room and sitting beside Harry.

"God, that would be fucking awful. But it was just a dream, Harry—the Elder Wand doesn't actually exist. It's a fairytale," Draco soothed, slinging an arm around Harry's shoulders.

Harry sighed and shook his head, trying to shake the irritation at Draco's tone from his mind.

"It's real. Along with the others, too—the Cloak and the Stone," Harry explained, and Draco drew back from his position to look concededly into Harry's eyes.

"Muggles have fairytales too, don't they? Stories they tell their children at night?"

"For fuck's sake, Draco, this isn't some damn cultural difference!" Harry snapped, standing up abruptly.

"It must be, because the Deathly Hallows is a conspiracy for nutters!" Draco shot back. "Harry, trust me, I know more about this than you, and it's simply because I grew up around this! I know how to separate what's real and what's—_where are you going?_"

Harry had heard enough. He stormed from the room, irritation boiling over into anger at Draco's ignorant assumptions of him.

Not only had he failed to stop Voldemort from gaining an essential piece to his continued rise to power, he now had no one to express the immediacy of their situation to—mostly due to Draco thinking pure blood meant the ticket to the only totally valid magical living.

Draco was following him, rushing along the corridors as Harry stomped ahead of him.

"Harry—_slow down, for fuck's sake!_"

"I can prove it!" Harry said suddenly, whirling around and almost colliding with Draco as the blond ran up to him.

"Prove—the Hallows? Harry, I'm telling you—"

"Oh, shut up, you arrogant ponce, and come with me." Harry commanded, and Draco's mouth snapped shut, his eyes flashing. He folded his arms with an impressively forceful exhalation and followed Harry.

They walked back to the bedroom in a fuming silence, Harry stalking ahead of Draco and Draco stalking behind Harry.

Harry went for the bedside table and pulled Hermione's bag out of the drawer.

Reaching his hand inside, Harry fished around until his hand closed finally around a portion of silky fabric. He yanked the entire thing out, determinedly not looking at Draco until he had unearthed the entire thing.

Draco raised his eyebrows, a cool and familiar mask in place of his newfound openness with Harry. "That's supposed to be the Cloak, then?"

"How do you think I avoided expulsion at Hogwarts?" Harry replied smugly. "All those years sneaking around night, hardly getting in trouble?" He passed the fabric through his hands before he whipped it around himself, letting the cloak drape itself over his body.

"By being Harry bloody Po—_holy fuck."_

He watched, now assuredly invisible, as Draco's sneer melted away into wide-eyed astonishment.

"There—there were always rumors," Draco said, coming closer and reaching out his hand as it to try and touch Harry. "But I just assumed—it was more shit made up about you and your legend, or whatever—or a spare pair of robes Granger had enchanted—"

"Nope," Harry replied, his lips popping on the 'p'.

"So—hang on—" Draco said, blinking and stepping back. A look of outrage came over his face and Harry shrugged off the cloak, eyebrows raised.

"Third year, in Hogsmeade! With the fucking snowballs! That _was_ you!" Draco screeched, thrusting a finger at Harry.

Harry remembered with a burst of laughter.

"You were being a git," he reasoned, grinning, and Draco's face darkened.

He was right on Harry in a flash, seeming to tower over him suddenly even though he still wasn't all that taller. His stare pinned Harry in place, his lips curved in a predatory smile.

"_God_, I hated you for that. I hated you _so_ much, _Potter_," he growled, placing two hands on Harry's shoulders and _shoving_ him back onto the bed.

Harry fell ungracefully, surprised and immediately turned on.

Well, that shouldn't be right.

"I thought you always loved me," Harry replied, smirking. "Or do you say that to all the pretty boys?"

"I did, but I think it made me hate you," Draco answered, and the honesty of it struck Harry for a moment before Draco crawled up to him on the bed, hooking a leg up to Harry's hip and orienting himself so he was hovering over him.

"That makes sense," Harry dimly heard himself say, focused entirely on the Slytherin above him.

"This is what we could have had in school, _Potter_," Draco murmured, brushing his lips over the underside of Harry's jaw.

Harry's breath hitched, marveling at how only Draco could make his own last name sound and feel that erotic.

"Screaming fights…slamming each other against things…we were halfway there already, if you think about it," Draco continued, mouthing along the column of skin of Harry's neck.

"W-where we, _Malfoy_?"

"Oh, yes," Draco purred. "If you only knew the sleepless nights I had…trying _not_ to think about you as I did all _sorts_ of things to myself…"

Harry moaned. "How'd that go?" he managed, the words intended to be suggestive and flirty but instead came out as a sort of breathless, choked sentence.

Draco laughed softly, the low chuckle reminding Harry irresistibly of velvet and chocolates, the cliché of it all hardly registering.

"It went _disastrously_," he whispered, lifting his face up again to give Harry a searing kiss, finally pulling back with a groan.

"What?" Harry asked dazedly, mourning the loss of Draco's mouth and sitting up with him.

"We can't do anything, we have to go check on Griphook," Draco informed him, standing up and shaking his head firmly.

"But…how long was I out?" Harry asked, confused. Had they not just left the goblin?

"Almost two hours," Draco answered.

"Oh," Harry replied, blinking. His head cleared as he thought about what he was going to say to Griphook, sorrowfully erasing any lingering arousal from his state and unfortunately recalling what had led to it all in the first place.

"You know, I don't think we can just…hook up every time we fight," Harry said, and Draco pouted.

"Why not?"

"Because I'll forget we were fighting!"

"That's the point!"

Harry snorted. "I'm still mad at you. It's all coming back now, you shouldn't have interrupted what was happening."

Draco sighed. "I'll do well to remember it next time." He paused, pursing his lips. "I still don't understand why you're mad. Just because I know more—"

Harry let out a frustrated breath. "You might know more. You might not. You might be just as misinformed as me—Draco, you can't just _assume_ you always have the upper hand because you're a pureblood."

"It's not a matter of prejudice, it's a matter of logic!" Draco argued.

"Look," Harry told him firmly, "I know you still have a lot of…philosophies that you've been raised to believe in. But the fact is that you still have a lot of bias when it comes to this sort of stuff. And yeah, you know more wizard history than I do. You grew up with magic and I didn't know it was real. But we have the same level of official magical education. We both cast our first spell at age eleven. I am just as magical as you are."

"I know that, but why can't you see that I just have more innate knowledge and…_advantage_ when it comes to magic, and especially concerning the bedtime stories I grew up reading!"

"Well, you've already been proven wrong, haven't you? I've shown you one of three Hallows, none of which you believed existed."

Draco's firm and exasperated expression fell a bit, his eyes darting away to where the Cloak lay on the floor.

"Ron's a pureblood too," Harry continued quietly, watching Draco carefully. "His mum read him those stories just like your parents did you. He has just enough reason to be skeptical or even downright disbelieving as you do, but he's always trusted what I know. Or what Hermione knows. I want you to do the same. Trust me."

Draco chewed on his lip, the last traces of resentment leaving his face.

"Trust you. I do. I trust you," he finally said, nodding slowly. He shook himself, his eyes now determined. "So. Deathly Hallows—apparently _not_ for nutters."

"Well, only nutters really want to have them," Harry replied, but his heart twinged with shame as he thought again of the Stone, and how he would very much like to maybe have that one.

"And You-Know-Who, master of evil, now has the most powerful and dangerous one out of them all," Draco concluded, his face calm and his tone factual. He might have been discussing taxes.

"That seems to be the case," Harry answered.

Draco raised his eyebrows, nodding grimly. "That's bad," he said.

"Yes."

"We've got to stop him."

"We're trying," Harry smiled weakly, remembering again the goblin downstairs.

"Right," Draco said. "Let's go, then?"

They made their way slowly downstairs in silence, Harry thinking the entire time about how he was going to ask Griphook to help them.

"It'll be okay," Draco whispered, and Harry realized he actually quite liked that sentiment coming from Draco.

He nodded in reply and took a deep breath before knocking on the door.

A soft but authoritative "come in" was their reply, and Harry pushed open the door to find Griphook sitting up in the bed, gazing out of the wide window Harry had made sure his room featured.

The obvious centerpiece of the scene, however, was the long silver weapon lying across the lap of the goblin—the Sword of Gryffindor. Harry's breath caught. He knew the Sword had been lying in his and Draco's room—Griphook must have snuck in while Harry was sleeping.

"How are you feeling?" Harry asked, forcing his train of thought away and trying to recall any scrap of manners he was ever taught.

"Do you remember, Harry Potter, that it was I who showed you to your Gringotts vault when you were merely eleven?" Griphook inquired, as if Harry hadn't spoken.

Harry blinked. _He_ had remembered this—he hadn't thought Griphook would have.

"I do," he answered. Griphook looked at him.

Harry recognized his stare immediately. It was an assessment not entirely unlike the one Dumbledore used to fix with him, but the goblin's eyes were colder—the small black beads narrowed and calculating. He was sizing Harry up.

Harry lifted his chin, trying to show that he was unfazed by any theatrics Griphook thought he could manipulate Harry with. They stared at each other for a while, Draco standing silently in the background, obviously backing Harry up but not yet in the action. He was looking at Griphook as well, but the goblin had yet to even acknowledge his presence.

"You are an unusual wizard, Harry Potter."

Harry heard a soft snort behind him and glanced at Draco, whose lips were curved in an amused smirk. He was looking absently at the ground, as if seeing something else.

"In what way?" Harry asked, turning back to Griphook.

"The elf, Dobby[AH1] , speaks very highly of you," Griphook said. "Not many house-elves speak well of those they are not in the service of."

"Dobby's at Shell Cottage?" Harry asked, distracted. "He didn't go back to Hogwarts?"

"He was not allowed to return," Griphook answered. "He had too much sensitive information."

"Is he alright?" Harry pressed. Griphook continued to stare at him

"As I said, you are a very unusual wizard."

"Right," Harry replied. "Well—we need help. We have something that we need to do and you're the only one who can help us."

Harry held his breath as Griphook blinked slowly, sitting up a little straighter. The silence was ringing throughout the three of them, Harry becoming more and more unâsure by the second.

When the goblin continued to make no sign of encouragement, Harry decided to press on.

_Here it is_, he thought as he sucked in a breath.

"I need to break into a Gringotts vault," he exhaled, his words rushing together as he watched Griphook fearfully for a reaction.

He glanced at Draco again, who was watching him instead of Griphook. His eyebrows were raised and he nodded subtly, winking sarcastically and flashing him a discreet thumbs up.

Harry fought the urge to roll his eyes as his gaze returned to Griphook, who shifted, already shaking his head.

"Break into a Gringotts vault? It is impossible."

"Is it, though?" Harry challenged, determined to sell this plan to the goblin. He fixed Griphook with a determined look, stepping closer to the bed. "Seven years ago, when you took me to my vault, there was a break in that same day. It's been done!"

Griphook scowled, color rising in his face. "That was another manner entirely," he snapped. Evidently, the mere suggestion that Gringotts was or had been weak enough for a robber to slip in and out undetected was on par with sacrilege. "The vault in question was empty, therefore its protection minimal. Nothing was even stolen."

"Of course," Draco spoke hurriedly for the first time, and Harry relaxed, shooting him a grateful look. "This is why we need your help so desperately. Gringotts is, bar none, the most secure place in the world and we need something from the heart of it."

Harry caught on to the careful flattery, suddenly even more grateful Draco had decided to join him.

"The vault we need won't be protected minimally," Harry continued where Draco left off. "It's going to be fitted with the most protection Gringotts can offer—absolutely impenetrable."

"Which vault do you seek to open?"

Harry hesitated.

"My dear Aunt's," Draco drawled, coming to stand nearer to Harry. "The vault belonging to Mr. and Mrs. Lestrange."

Watching Griphook, Harry rather thought Draco's bold tone and choice of association made at least a slight impression on the goblin, but he soon began shaking his head again.

"You have told me that you know of the dangers that come with our most heavily guarded vaults," he said. "Surely you know that you have no chance?"

Harry's heart sank.

"_If you seek beneath our floors, a treasure that was never yours—"_

_"Thief, you have been warned, beware…"_ Harry trailed off quietly, feeling the resurgence of his hopelessness.

"But we're not trying to steal just because we like the way it would look on our mantle," Draco said, sounding impatient. "We need one thing and it is key in winning this war, not for our own personal gain."

"Can you believe that?" Harry asked, his tone still quiet.

Griphook stared at Harry for a few moments before his gaze came to rest on Draco, who was now standing at the foot of the bed. The blond blinked, standing up straight.

"The only thing I seek beneath your floors is what Harry says will help take…_him_ down. I promise," he vowed solemnly, and Harry felt a swell of pride. He couldn't stop the smile that formed on his face, and Draco met it with a quick but equally grateful one.

The goblin nodded once. "If there was a wizard of whom I would believe that they did not seek personal gain," Griphook answered finally, "it would be you, Harry Potter."

Harry exhaled in relief, but saw Draco stiffen out of the corner of his eye.

"And if there was one wizard of whom I believe capable of immense change," Griphook added, in a surprisingly kind gesture, "it would be you, young Mr. Malfoy."

Draco's lips parted, taken aback. His surprised features quickly settled in to one of gratitude and modesty, and he bowed his head and backed away in a show of respect.

"Goblins and elves are not used to the protection and the respect that you have shown," Griphook said. "Not from wand-carriers."

"Won't you help us, then?" Draco asked, and it was easy to detect a note of pleading in his voice.

"The people who will treat you with respect, _those_ are the people fighting against You-Know-Who," Harry added passionately, hoping this would be his driving point.

Griphook narrowed his eyes at them. "Is that so?" he hissed, his tone icy. "While it is true that the majority of respectful wizards may hail from the side you're fighting, I have yet to be convinced that goblins will ever be treated as anything other than second-class citizens! Forever in the shadow of witches and wizards!"

"But—"

"I have seen protests against the people who kill your friends," Griphook continued, settling back against the pillows. "I have seen people revolt and cry injustice when magical people are struck down unfairly. Who among the wand-carriers protest when crimes against golbins are elves are committed? Who, on either side, is fighting for us?"

"We are!" Harry argued, a sudden flash of pride for Hermione and her long campaign for other magical beings, not really understanding the importance until now. "What about Hermione Granger?"

"Being Muggle-born and being a goblin are quite different—"

"Not in this war," Draco interjected. "Griphook, I'm sorry, but to them you're all disposable. I have been on the other side of this war and I know what they think of everyone. Goblins and elves and Muggle-borns—they're all worthless to him. You need to recognize that you have to join the side of the oppressed as one—we can't afford to fight more wars. This is your best shot."

Griphook watched Draco throughout his argument, his distasteful expression replaced, by the end, with a carefully neutral one.

"And what about you, then, Mr. Malfoy?" the goblin asked, his voice still cold. "You and your family locked me up and abused me for weeks before you had your convenient change of heart. How do I know you shall not be so fickle in the future?"

Harry opened his mouth angrily but Draco held up a hand, anger and shame brewing in his eyes.

"A second ago, you were telling me you believed I had changed," Draco said calmly, though his voice was steely.

"I said I believed you were _capable_ of change," Griphook corrected, a bit nastily. "_Have_ you?"

Draco didn't answer, just clenched his teeth and stared resolutely at Griphook. Harry realized Draco didn't feel like he could answer for himself—regardless of what he might personally think.

"He has," Harry told Griphook firmly, and the goblin's eyes swiveled back to him. "His defect wasn't a split-second decision. I know it had been a long time coming, but no one was paying attention," he added softly, unable to restrain the regret from showing through his voice. He would have liked to see Draco's expression, but ultimately kept his eyes locked with the goblin's.

"If we win this war, we're going to have to rebuild a whole new order of doing things," Harry continued solemnly, the truth of his own words causing a flutter of anxiety and awe in his chest. "This new order is going to be one of absolute equality—and that's not just between Muggle-borns and purebloods and half-bloods. Goblins and elves and other magical creatures—they won't be overlooked anymore. I promise."

Silence fell again, both Harry and Draco recognizing that their case had been made.

"Will you help us?" Harry asked quietly, after seemingly endless moments of uneasy stillness.

Griphook stared absently at them both, his eyes sliding slowly between them. When he did speak, his voice was almost sad.

"So young," he said, "to be fighting so many."

Draco and Harry glanced at each other, the hard and tired look of remembered suffering in both of their eyes. They both knew what this war would cost, but it was one thing to be aware of it somewhere in the back of your mind as you focus on other things. It was quite another to have it brought to light in front of you, slapping you in the face with your mortality.

And as Harry continued to stare at Draco, looking him over in a second that seemed an eternity long, he realized he now had one more thing to lose.

"I…will think about it," Griphook replied finally, his tone verging on maddening.

Harry pursed his lips, exhaling quickly. He wanted nothing more than to protest, demand an answer from him now, make some last minute speech—but he felt a hand on his shoulder and sighed.

"Thank you," Draco said sincerely, bowing his head again. Harry nodded.

They exited without further dismissal.

"Harry," Draco said, as they were walking towards the kitchen for lunch, "he's probably going to ask for something."

Harry looked over at him, confused. "Would he do that?"

Draco nodded. "My family has worked with goblins before, in transactions and even cover-ups when the Ministry would do a round of searches all of a sudden. They always ask for something in return."

"But this is different, isn't it? This isn't some scheming cover-up to avoid Azkaban," Harry countered.

"No, of course not, it's just blatant robbery," Draco replied sarcastically, raising his eyebrows.

"For a good cause! Like Robin Hood," Harry argued enthusiastically, moving immediately to the cupboards to find bread.

Draco blinked. "Like who?"

"Robin—oh, fuck, I forgot. Hermione usually gets my references," Harry said, sighing and running a hand through his hair.

"Well, sorry," Draco said, a bit stung and trying not to sound defensive. "Just explain it to me?"

Harry smiled wryly, apparently giving up on locating bread. He selected a brightly colored box with something called 'fruit loops' inside, throwing the box on the table and himself ungracefully into a chair.

Draco couldn't help but smile too.

"Robin Hood," Harry began, Summoning a plastic bowl (also purchased at the market) from the cabinet, "is a fictional character Muggles tell stories about. He was the leader of this group that stole from the rich and gave to the poor. He was the hero, trying to bring his friends and family out of poverty and rescue his girlfriend from the evil upper class of England."

Harry poured the colorful circles into a bowl and started to eat it dry, picking a few 'loops' at a time and popping them into his mouth.

"Want a spoon?" Draco drawled, nodding towards Harry's now-surely sticky fingers.

Harry glanced down unaffectedly at 'lunch'. "I'm good," he replied nonchalantly, bringing his hands to his mouth and licking the sugary particles off his fingers, his eyes innocently trained on Draco.

Draco swallowed and looked away, but not before he saw the smirk quirk up on Harry's lips. _Now was definitely _not_ the time to do anything about _that, he told himself firmly.

"How well do you think Griphook is going to react to your…Robin Hood mentality?" Draco asked, switching topics back to the matter at hand.

Harry shrugged. "If he feels so passionately about the well-being of his own people, I don't see why he shouldn't help us. It's the best thing for all involved."

Draco sighed. "I just don't think goblins think that way," he said.

"That's what everyone said about Dobby," Harry muttered.

Draco smiled sadly. "He was the worst house-elf we ever had," he said, almost mournfully. Harry laughed.

"You're welcome, then."

"He was also my favorite," Draco added, a bit quieter. Harry looked up at him in surprise.

"Why?"

Draco moved to take a seat across from Harry, shaking the hair from his face as he lowered himself down. He exhaled, the sad smile still in place.

"He talked about you," he answered honestly. "I was the only one who would let him even mention you."

Harry looked even more surprised, not saying anything in response. His lips were slightly parted, eyes wider than usual, fingers absently hovering over the rim of the bowl.

"Anyway," Draco said, dropping his eyes and clearing his throat, "I still have some questions about this whole endeavor before we go back in there."

Harry shook himself quickly, inhaling and nodding. "Yeah, of course."

"Why do you think there's a Horcrux in the vault?"

"It was actually when Bellatrix was questioning Griphook," answered Harry, pushing the bowl out of his way. He leaned forward and rested his arms on the table, the same intent look in his eyes that he seemed to get whenever he was expressing or explaining something. "About the Sword, remember? She looked terrified because she thought we'd been in there."

"Is…that all? We can't break into Gringotts on just that, you know."

"Well, I mean…think about the type of places he'd put a Horcrux. I mean, so far, it's been one luxurious item after another—diary excluded, I guess—"

"—Wait," Draco interrupted, his heart stopping as a sudden burst of realization hit him. "Tell me again the Horcruxes so far?"

Harry looked at him questioningly. "Um, the diary, the ring and the locket."

"Slytherin's locket," Draco specified, and Harry nodded.

"I mean, it was his House, and Hogwarts was his home," Harry said, getting the same uneasy and dark feeling he got whenever he was confronted by the sometimes startling similarities between him and Voldemort.

"You say Hogwarts was important to him," Draco continued, "Important enough that he'd want treasures from the other founders, too?"

Harry sat up straighter, identity crises flying from his mind. "I'd think so, yeah…do you have an idea?"

Draco grinned. "I know for a _fact_ that Auntie Bella has Hufflepuff's goblet in her personal vault."

Harry's eyes flew wide and he leapt up out of his seat, but there still seemed to be some containment around him, some barrier between him and true enthusiasm or relief, almost like he didn't dare believe it.

"You think—" he started, excitedly, but stopped abruptly at the sound of small footsteps down the hallway.

Griphook walked slowly into view, obviously not up to full physical ability but his condition better than Draco had originally perceived.

"Griphook," Harry said, surprised. "Are you sure you should be…out of bed like this?"

"My room is just down the hall," Griphook replied haughtily, and Harry flushed and looked away, mumbling an apology.

"Does this mean you've reached a decision?" Draco dared to ask, expecting some sort of reprimand from one or both of them. Instead, Harry's eyes returned to Griphook and the goblin drew himself up to his full height, black eyes glittering mysteriously.

"Yes, young Mr. Malfoy. It does. I have decided to assist you in your endeavor." Griphook announced, and Draco felt a rush of dizzying alleviation, fighting back the urge to smile at Harry. He nodded coolly and politely instead, allowing himself a most professional glance at his now literal partner in crime.

The relief was evident in Harry, as far as Draco's perception went. To his credit, Harry put on a remarkable impression of solemn gratitude as he bowed his head in a clear imitation of Draco.

"Thank you," Harry said sincerely.

"I have a request in return," Griphook continued, almost unreceptive to Harry's thanks.

Draco wanted to sigh and roll his eyes, and his chest tightened at the sudden anxiety in Harry's eyes.

"I have gold," Draco began, but Griphook held up a hand to quiet him.

"Not gold," he said, and Draco shut his mouth, surprised. "I have gold."

Draco and Harry glanced at each other, neither one of them opting to ask what exactly it was Griphook wanted, extremely cautious of making any sort of suggestion.

Griphook went on regardless.

"I want the Sword," he said, eyeing both of them determinedly. "The Sword of Gryffindor."

Draco closed his eyes, exhaling slowly before reopening them.

"You can't have that," Harry was saying, looking disbelievingly at Griphook, like he was half-expecting the goblin to be joking. "I'm sorry."

Griphook stuck his chin out, his surprisingly expressive eyes becoming suddenly cold.

"Then I'm afraid we have a problem," he replied, ominously cool.

"You can have anything else," Harry pleaded, sounding desperate.

"I want nothing else," Griphook snapped.

"The Sword is mine, Dumbledore left it to me—"

"Did you ever think that perhaps it was not his to give away?" Griphook hissed, glaring at him.

Draco grimaced, knowing where this was going.

"He was a Gryffindor, I am too, it was in his possession—"

"But before it was Gryffindor's, whose was it?" Griphook demanded, his lips curling in a bitter smile.

Harry shook his head once, brow furrowing. He looked at Draco for help, at a temporary loss.

Griphook's now steely gaze turned on him too, and he sighed, grudgingly recalling the anti-Gryffindor sentiment instilled in him at birth.

"Ragnuk the First's," he acquiesced quickly, and Harry's eyes widened in something akin to horror. "But that's…it's a myth, there's no historical proof—"

"There is only no proof because of those who tend to document it," Griphook shot back, his tone pure ice. "This is my final offer. I imagine you would like time to consider it?"

Harry looked at him helplessly for a fraction of a second before he shook his head once.

"Yeah," he said, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah, we would."

Griphook nodded stiffly and retreated.

Harry sighed deeply once the goblin was gone, his eyes falling shut.

Draco was wildly trying to think of a way around the deal—offering him something else obviously wouldn't work, and neither would reneging on the deal completely.

"Come with me upstairs, and we can talk about it," Harry said, and Draco nodded.

They made their way up to their room in silence, though Draco could practically hear the tired thoughts swirling inside Harry's mind.

Harry went immediately to the bed, collapsing on it how he had hours before. He groaned, flopping over again so he was facing the ceiling.

Draco climbed slowly onto the mattress as well, watching Harry, and chose an ending corner to sit in, leaning against a bedpost for support.

They enjoyed another few moments of silence, Harry not knowing where to begin and Draco waiting for him to set the conversation going.

"Did…did Gryffindor really steal the Sword?" Harry asked quietly, after a while of stressing out the ceiling.

Draco sighed, trying to be careful with how he answered.

He had always been of the thinking that Godric Gryffindor, and therefore, all Gryffindors, were just manipulative as Slytherins could be, without any of the finesse or intelligence. The pureblood aristocracy and the goblin's recalling of their interspecies history paralleled in few places, but the Sword of Gryffindor was one area that they seemed to agree.

"Technically," Draco began, leaning his head against the surprisingly comfortable wooden post, "that is still considered a goblin legend as opposed to wizard fact."

Harry nodded, but he didn't look satisfied. "I get the feeling that 'goblin legend' potentially seems to include a lot of wizard history no one wants to talk about," he said bitterly.

"That's true," Draco admitted. "And…I understand this might kind of mess with your image of Godric Gryffindor. But you also have to stop seeing people as good or evil. The world isn't made up of two categories; not everything is so binary…what?"

Draco had to stop as saw Harry gazing at him with a strange mixture of awe and sadness. It was almost disconcerting, as Draco had no idea what he had said.

"That's what Sirius said," Harry said, a bit thickly, and fell silent. His gaze eventually turned back to the ceiling.

Draco didn't really know what to say to that.

"I—yes, well," he stammered, deciding to skip the words of condolence. That was not the way to get through to Harry. "Maybe it's time you stop recognizing people as polar opposites. Gryffindor and Slytherin were very much alike. One wasn't light and one wasn't dark—one wasn't pure and one wasn't corrupted."

"Slytherin was—"

"Slytherin is remembered unfavorably, but that doesn't mean he was…well, You-Know-Who." Draco cut off Harry's protest. "Harry, when you look at me, do you see all thinks pure and holy? Do you see a person without blemishes? Without mistakes, without the tendency to be a complete prat?"

Harry's eyes snapped back to him at that, his eyebrows raised.

"I hope you don't," Draco said. "Because that's not me, and I hope that's not the person you think you love."

"Draco," Harry interjected, looking almost offended at the accusation. "I don't love some weird, perfect, idealized version of you. Of course I don't love _that_ you, I love _you_ you."

"Relatively eloquent," Draco snorted.

"You're a prat," Harry said affectionately, grinning at Draco.

"Glory, glory hallelujah."

"There you go with the surprising Muggle knowledge again," Harry sighed, lying back down and shaking his head. "And you didn't even know what Fruit Loops were."

"They're a blight on the definition of breakfast, that's what they are."

"Oh my god, I can't deal with your weird cereal aversion right now," Harry groaned, a smile still playing at the corners of his mouth, but Draco sobered immediately.

"Right," he said, grimacing in the reminder of Griphook. "Planning a robbery."

"I can't let him have the Sword," Harry said firmly.

"Why is the Sword…so important? Did you say it would destroy the Horcruxes?" Draco asked.

"Oh, yeah—forgot I still haven't told you everything," Harry answered sheepishly. "The blade is infused with basilisk venom from…er, my second year."

"Right," Draco said simply.

They were silent again, both of them feeling dimly guilty at trying to find a loophole to Griphook's offer.

"We can't just give him something else, let him have his pick?" Harry suggested half-heartedly.

"He'd never agree to that," Draco replied, shaking his head. "He wants what he thinks is his."

"He _wants_ one up on us," Harry muttered darkly. As if the words had triggered something in his mind, he shot straight up.

"I have an idea," he announced uneasily, his eyes darting to the door. "But…it's not a very _nice_ thing to do."

Draco raised his eyebrows.

"How about…we give him the sword," he began hesitantly, "but we don't tell him exactly _when_ we'll hand it over."

Draco felt his eyebrows raise even harder, a surprised and even vaguely proud smirk slowly spreading on his face.

"Why, _Harry_," he drawled in a hushed voice, eyes flashing. "How very _Slytherin _of you."

"I didn't say I liked it," Harry shot back, flushing immediately.

"You still thought of it, though."

"Yeah, well. Do you think we should do it?"

Draco nodded. "I think it's our best option."

Harry sighed, lying back down. "I was almost Sorted into Slytherin," he says casually, causing Draco to bark a startled laugh.

"Bullshit," he replied, almost instantly.

Harry smiled. "I was only in Gyrffindor because I asked to be," he continued, showing no other indication he had heard Draco's exclamation.

"Why did you?"

Harry shrugged. "I'd heard better things about Gryffindor. And not-so-good things about Slytherin."

Draco scoffed. "That's it?" he asked skeptically.

"Um," Harry laughed nervously, shaking the bangs out of his eyes. "Well, the main thing was that…_you_ were Sorted into Slytherin."

Draco laughed again, Harry's confession somehow making him feel a rush of some perverse pride.

"_That_ backfired," he said, grinning. "Imagine the power couple we could have made!"

Harry raised his eyebrows. "You think so?"

"The Slytherin Princes," Draco replied, eyeing Harry mysteriously and rolling his hands dramatically.

Harry made a face. "If you had even once suggested that seriously I would have left you." He tried to say it sternly, but the effect was lessened by him giggling through the words, watching Draco's rather soap opera-y attempts at eye sex.

"We would have been unstoppable," Draco sighed, still smirking. "Pity you were so impressionable, Potter."

"Pity you were such a prat, Malfoy."

"Yeah," Draco agreed, smile slipping off his face. He sighed quietly, not for effect this time, looking at a spot on the floor. "Pity."

"So we are in agreement?" Griphook said, in his place in bed again, looking intimidatingly at them both.

"You may have the Sword," Harry affirmed, fighting his face to remain utterly guiltless even as shame coursed through him. "If you help us break into Gringotts, of course."

Griphook nodded. "Then we have a deal," he said, arching one eyebrow. "Let us begin."


	8. Chapter 8

"Sweet Merlin, do I smell bacon?"

Draco smiled to himself at the sound of Harry's voice, still muddled with sleep. He flipped the bacon around with the spatula, trying to get it thoroughly cooked.

"Yes," he replied, throwing a wink over his shoulder.

"God, I love you," Harry sighed, flopping down into a chair.

Draco laughed, reddening. "Only for my bacon?"

He slid the three pieces onto a little plate and placed it in front of Harry, who kissed him quickly in thanks.

"What have you eaten?" Harry asked him, cautiously picking up a still sizzling piece and yanking his hand back, yelping.

"I've—_careful_, you idiot, that's still hot—I've eaten something," he answered vaguely.

"Well, what was it?"

Draco sighed, trying to hide his blush. "Eggs."

"No it wasn't."

Draco looked round at him, trying to look affronted. "Yes it was!"

"You had to think about your answer," Harry replied, smirking. "I think I know what you ate."

"Toast. Eggs and toast."

"I think you had Froot Loops."

Draco's mouth popped open, trying to put on his best face of outrage.

"Like I would touch—"

"Look, I haven't been eating them _that_ much and our stock is rapidly depleting."

"Maybe—"

"Draco, I know _Griphook _hasn't eaten any Froot Loops."

Draco sniffed and turned back to the pan, glaring at Harry when he heard the boy snicker behind him.

It wasn't _his _fault that the Muggles had somehow evolved their breakfast making to be some sugary, addictive narcotic for children.

"What have I not eaten?"

Both boys jumped and turned to face Griphook, who had entered the kitchen silently and unnoticed.

Draco hid a grimace. Griphook had taken to these silent and sudden entries whenever he could, feeling like the surprise added to his general unsettling nature, giving him the upper hand in their conversation. To be fair, it really was a brilliant power play.

"Nothing," Harry said quickly. "It was—I was just messing with Draco."

Griphook looked at him disapprovingly before Draco cleared his throat.

"Do you have something to tell us?" he asked, intentionally letting a glimmer of irritation into his words. He had let his guard down considerably over the last few weeks Griphook had been with them, seeing that the goblin remained unperturbed by his presence.

"Yes, I have," Giphook answered him, pretending to be oblivious to Draco's tone. He took a seat at the end of the table, looking expectantly at Draco.

Harry eyed him pointedly, and Draco sighed, taking a reluctant seat across from Harry.

Griphook nodded, placing his hands on the table.

"I have spent the last two weeks teaching you about every sort of defense we have in place at Gringotts," he began. "I do not know of a way to dismantle the precise curse that has been placed upon Bellatix Lestrange's vault—but it shouldn't matter if we get to that point peacefully and with the assist of an official Gringotts goblin."

"And assuming we don't?" Harry interjected.

"I haven't been able to find anything on it—nothing Granger packed has anything on that sort of curse." Draco sighed. "I guess we'll just have to be careful."

"We are counting on getting past the curse, though, right?" Harry asked, turning to Griphook. "It won't affect us if the vault doesn't think we're trying to steal something?"

Griphook nodded. "Which brings me to my next point," he said. "I assume you both have realized that you cannot just walk into Gringotts as Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy."

Harry nodded, sitting up straighter. "We have Polyjuice Potion—"

"And whose disguise are you adopting?" Griphook interrupted him. "Do you happen to have the hairs of Bellatrix Lestrange?"

"What do you suggest, then?" Draco snapped.

Griphook's eyes swiveled to him. "It is Gringotts policy that only the owner of the treasure and their spouse are able to make a retrieval. However, if both the owner and spouse are unavailable, permission _may_ be granted to non-familial member sent to retrieve something."

"But we don't have _any_ hairs of anyone," Harry replied.

"There is a man," Griphook told him, "that runs a very successful and _secretive_ illegal potions trade. His specialty is modifying potions so that it works in a slightly different way than originally intended—in our case, the Polyjuice Potion. He may be able to modify it enough to use Draco's hair to make him look like Lucius Malfoy."

"_Really_?" Harry asked excitedly, brightening considerably at the new advancement.

Draco flashed him a quick smile but sat back, an uneasy feeling stirring in his gut.

It was all too _real_, all of a sudden—the symbolism of the whole thing seeming to slap him in the face. It was ridiculous and angsty and absurd—and he'd never mention it to Harry—but the prospect of literally becoming his father was not something he was looking forward to.

_Quit whining_, Draco berated himself. _Just avoid mirrors. Easy._

"Wait," Harry was saying slowly. "Is he—do you know if he's using _Muggle science _for this?"

Both Griphook and Draco looked at him in surprise, the latter shaken out of his troubling thoughts.

"What does that have anything to do with magic?" Draco asked him, brow furrowed.

"I do not know the intricacies of his magic," Griphook answered him coolly. "Potions have never been something goblins have ever cared for."

"Well, never mind, it's not that important," Harry sighed quickly.

Draco pursed his lips in sympathy. It seemed like today would be one of the goblin's more sensitive ones—and he was a nightmare to work with in a bad mood.

"As I was saying, you must meet with him to obtain the modified version as soon as possible—he is Muggle-born, and I assume only tolerated because of his unique skillset. It is only a matter of time before someone decides his bloodline overshadows his trade—they can always torture the ability out of him." Griphook carried on, seemingly unaware how both boys cringed at his cold tone.

"When should we go?" Draco interrupted finally.

Griphook glared at him. "I suggest tomorrow. We can spend today and plan it out, but it should be relatively simple—really, only Mr. Malfoy needs to go—"

"No," Harry protested immediately, shaking his head. "He is absolutely not going alone."

Draco bit back a smile.

"Harry Potter, it would be unwise—"

"He is going with me or it doesn't happen," Harry said firmly, shrugging. "I don't care how stubborn you are, or how much you want your way, but in this? We do it my way."

Draco's breath caught as he gazed at Harry, both amused and a bit in awe. Harry was fearlessly staring down the goblin, who was looking coldly back at him.

"I suppose love makes fools of even the strongest of us," Griphook replied finally, not looking away from Harry's blazing green eyes.

Draco swallowed as he watched Harry's jaw clench in response.

"That means, of course, that we have to decide upon how you both get in and out of Knockturn Alley unnoticed. I suggest Glamour Charms."

Harry's furiously determined expression fell to one of unease as he glanced at Draco.

"Um, Hermione usually did those," Harry muttered sheepishly.

Griphook didn't even try to hide his smirk.

"I can do them," Draco announced, smiling pleasantly at the goblin.

"Very well," the goblin replied sourly. "I shall give you the name of the man in the morning before you leave. I think it is time for my morning walk."

Both Harry and Draco stood with Griphook, allowing him to leave the room before they broke their silence.

"Didn't know you were so protective, Harry," Draco smirked.

"I guess I have a lot of people to protect," Harry replied absently, casting a cursory glance Draco's way. The smirk on Draco's face slipped off as Harry ran a hand through his hair. He sat back down and sighed, leaving Draco standing there awkwardly.

"I'm not helpless," Draco offered, not sure what else to say.

Harry suddenly looked so much older.

Draco didn't like this. He didn't like when Harry didn't look like a seventeen year old boy anymore, didn't like when his eyes were red and tired and he felt the weight of everyone who depended on him.

And now Draco felt guilty for being part of all that, for forcing himself on Harry in an act he had initially thought was heroic and noble. A sacrifice for love, something everyone good can appreciate.

And it _was _good, and romantic—the stuff of fairytales. But Draco couldn't delude himself into thinking he was worth Harry's extra heartache, and he knew that there was nothing glorious in the way Harry now had to shield him, to protect him with his life.

It was terrifying.

And it was his fault, and his duty to minimize it. Short of leaving, which was an obviously idiotic move (and an already exhausted option, actually), the only thing Draco could think of to do was to reassure him…what, that it was all alright? A nicely vague lie he wouldn't fall for?

He had complicated Harry's life, undoubtedly, but he had also vowed to be a part of it. He had vowed his loyalty, his love. The best thing Draco could do was to reassure Harry that he would never be alone again.

Dragging a chair right next to Harry's, he sat down in it with a sedative breath. He tried to keep the worry that he felt out of his expression, knowing it was the last thing Harry would want to see. Instead, he kept his face calm and loving, drawing an arm around Harry's shoulders and bringing him closer. Harry's eyes closed and he let out a breath, inadvertently relaxing.

Draco leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to Harry's temple, swallowing around the lump in his throat as he rested his head in the crook of Harry's neck.

Harry let him hold him silently for a second before he twisted suddenly, grabbing Draco's face and lunging forward to kiss him.

Draco made a noise, startled, but recovered quickly. His mind seemed to unwind with relief as he kissed Harry back, recognizing with a thrill of anticipation the shift in their intimacy.

They broke apart, realizing simultaneously that nothing could be done (comfortably) in a kitchen chair, especially with a goblin roaming freely in unknown parts of the house.

Harry grabbed his hands and pulled him to the stairs, hopping on the first one before whirling around to kiss him again, resulting in a giggle from Draco as he reached blindly for the banister, trying to pull himself onto Harry's level.

He succeeded, finally, and pressed Harry against the railing for good measure, kissing him deeply and running a hand over his torso.

Harry pushed back, blushing at the sight of Draco's grin.

"We can't have sex on the stairs," he said decisively, looking at Draco firmly, face flushed and chest rising and falling dramatically.

"We can _try_," Draco countered, leaning in again.

Harry laughed and turned his head, pulling Draco up one more step.

"Anything's possible," Draco continued, letting himself be led.

"Not everything should be attempted," Harry pointed out wisely.

"Astute observation, Potter."

They finally made it up the stairs with the suddenly remembered tool of Apparation, falling against the doorway to their room and dissolving into giggles.

"You can do a lot of things successfully but I think you meet your match with staircases," Harry heard Draco say from where the boy was draped over him, body shaking with laughter.

Harry snorted. "Maybe You-Know-Who should just put the Horcrux at the top of a huge staircase and tell me to go for it," he speculated, enjoying Draco's sputter of laughter.

He breathed out, still grinning, and hugged Draco tighter.

Draco calmed then, his laughs quieting as he sighed, pulling back to look Harry over. He seemed happy as his eyes returned to Harry's, the two of them standing silently in their embrace.

Harry reached a hand out and traced the curve of Draco's soft smile with his index finger, feeling his own smile grow as he did it.

"I'm here with you," Draco reminded him quietly, gazing at Harry with a peaceful kind of solemnness. "You don't have to feel like you're on your own."

"I don't feel alone," Harry promised him.

Draco nodded, seeming satisfied. "Now, I know you said we can't have sex on the _stairs_, but…"

Harry laughed and kissed him again.

* * *

><p>Night fell quickly, which saw both of them retiring early. Harry, however, was having more trouble actually falling asleep than Draco, who was sleeping very soundly next to him.<p>

He told himself that his insomnia was due to the early hour, but he couldn't bring himself to fully believe it. He knew it was due more to the boy beside him than an irregular sleep schedule, especially since Harry considered himself to be a fairly adaptable sleeper.

Simply put, he was worried for Draco. He felt guilty for loving him so suddenly and angry at himself for doing it so quickly.

Was it in his nature to care too much, too quickly? Draco had rescued him from certain death and in return, Harry put him into even more danger by _falling in love _with the damn Slytherin.

He knew Draco would roll his eyes and tell him how ridiculous he was being, and honestly, Harry knew that he was right.

He also couldn't deny that nagging sense of guilt, and it was what was currently keeping him from sleep.

_Draco loves you too_, he told himself. _He did this because he loves you. He wouldn't have it any other way._

He sighed. It was true, and somehow he still felt like he didn't fully believe it. It had been weeks, why couldn't he still believe it within himself? He saw it in Draco every day, he heard it from Draco just as often.

_He loves you_, he thought, finally feeling the edge of slumber poke at the edges of his mind. _He loves you._

* * *

><p><em>His first sight was of Draco, crouched and weak against the same wall he remembered vividly Narcissa cowering against, an undeterminable amount of time ago.<em>

_His body flooded with panic. What was this? Weren't they just—_

_"Draco," a cold voice hissed, and Harry felt a tug of nausea as he recognized both the voice and the figure that floated into view. "Draco, Draco, Draco."_

_Draco made no indication that he heard Voldemort, other than an unconscious flinch at each intonation of his name._

_"You've been so disappointing, Draco," Voldemort told him, standing still so his back was to Harry. "I expected you to be weak—just like your father—but I did not expect you to go so far with it."_

_Draco's jaw clenched and he continued to stare at the floor._

_"Falling in love with Harry Potter," Voldemort simpered, the tone malicious and frightening in his cold voice. "So fitting, isn't it? I imagine you felt very—poetic."_

_Draco trembled._

_"He'll come for you," Voldemort continued. "And he'll die."_

_A short jerk of his head was all the response Draco gave._

_"Ah," Voldemort breathed quietly, seemingly delighted. "That's not what you're really afraid of."_

_Draco opened his mouth defensively, but shut it quickly again._

_"Maybe he won't come for you," Voldemort speculated. "He'll live, that way. Maybe he'll decide it's not worth it."_

_Silence from the boy on the floor._

_"Either way, people die."_

_Draco closed his eyes._

_"Such is the way with Harry Potter."_

Harry was shaken awake, his eyes flying open to see Draco pinning him down, a terrified look on his face.

"Harry, you were shaking," Draco whispered, letting him sit up. "Are you—did you have another vision?"

"A fake one," Harry replied, rubbing his scar. "He's warning me. Baiting me."

"Who…who was it?"

Harry sighed, bringing his eyes to meet Draco's. He scooted closer to him and leaned against him, resting his forehead on Draco's shoulder.

"You," he replied. "That's how I knew it wasn't real, but…I mean, _god_, it could have been."

"Well," Draco said, wrapping one hand around Harry's shoulders and the other trailing up and down Harry's back, "the Occlumency offer is still on the table."

Harry sat up, his face grim.

"I think I'll take you up on that, then."

"Alright," Draco nodded, throwing off the covers. "Let's start."

"What, now?"

"I don't think it would be optimal for you to have another episode tonight. You can at least learn some of the basics."

Harry looked around, his memory of Snape's lessons in fifth year contrasting greatly with this.

"Here?"

"Occlumency involves a high degree of mental and emotional control, and the easiest way to have control over your mind and body is if you're comfortable," Draco explained, lighting a candle with his wand.

This was news to Harry. "Snape dragged me down to the dungeons in the early hours of the morning and threw me in a chair," he recalled, raising his eyebrows.

Draco's lips parted. "Well, that was wrong of him," he answered neutrally. "He treated me differently."

"I'd imagine," Harry muttered darkly.

Draco stood up, yawning widely.

"This can wait until the morning, or when we get back from Knockturn Alley tomorrow," Harry told him, feeling a twinge of guilt as Draco yawned again.

"No," replied Draco, shaking his head and rubbing his eyes, "this really should happen now."

"Let me go…wash my face or something, I don't feel like I can do this right this second," Harry said, rubbing his eyes."

Draco nodded.

* * *

><p>"It's probably best if you're sitting," he said. "Do you feel relaxed?"<p>

"As relaxed as I can get right now," he replied.

"Fair enough. Do you feel in control? You don't feel like you're somewhere else or you're not thinking clearly?"

Harry shook his head. "I'm fine."

"Then the first thing you need to learn is how to empty your mind, and then how to let it stay empty."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Seriously?"

"I figured it wouldn't be much of a stretch."

"Piss off," Harry laughed, kicking his legs towards Draco.

Draco cleared his throat, forcing the smile off of his face. "Clearing your mind." he resumed, walking around to the front of Harry, who was sitting on the edge of the bed, looking openly up at Draco. He looked remarkably young. "What works for me is usually thinking of something calming, then concentrating on one specific, simple thought. It's easier to think of nothing when you don't have to try and clear away all these thoughts at once."

Harry nodded, closing his eyes and breathing deeply.

"So the purpose of Legilimency is to invade the mind and access information." Draco said, his voice low and calming. "Occlumency is someone blocking that information from the Legilimens, and the easiest way to do this is to try and stop the thought from ever coming to the forefront of your mind."

"How am I supposed to do that?"

"Well, I'm about to help you practice."

Harry sighed and nodded once more.

"Think about carrots. Everything you know about carrots," Draco instructed.

Harry opened his eyes. "What?"

"This is essentially what Legilimency is," Draco explained. "Except it's never something as innocent as carrots. Someone is trying to get at _something,_ and you can't let them. Now, the next time I tell you to think about carrots, _don't_ think about carrots. Don't think about anything, ideally, but _especially _don't think about carrots."

"No carrots. Carrots bad. Got it."

Draco smiled. "Alright. Are you ready?"

"Yeah."

"Then think about carrots."

"Wait—fuck!"

Draco laughed. "Did you?"

Harry sighed, sounding frustrated. He opened his eyes, frowning. "It was just the word," he said. "I was telling myself not to, but then you said _carrots_ and I thought about carrots."

"It's hard," Draco agreed. "Took me months and even now it's still not a guarantee. People spend years studying these fields, dedicate their entire careers and lives to it. You're not going to get it tonight."

Harry nodded. "Yeah."

"Practice clearing your mind for tonight. Getting rid of big thoughts that keep you awake is good exercise." Draco concluded, walking back around to the other side of the bed.

"What, that's it?"

"For tonight. You shouldn't do anything big or really exhausting regarding mental magic when you're tired, or stressed."

"I'm not!"

"Yes, you are," Draco replied factually, sliding into bed.

Harry sighed again and shifted back next to Draco.

"Maybe I am."

Draco turned his head on the pillow to look at Harry, who was staring, unseeing, off into the dark room.

"You're thinking," Draco said, only lightly chastising.

"It's hard not to," Harry replied.

Draco scooted closer. "Come here," he said gently, stretching an arm out and nudging Harry's shoulder. "I'm not going to tolerate you lying there sighing all night. Come here, Potter."

Harry's eyes flitted to him for a moment before he complied, curling into Draco's side.

"Just relax. I know you're tired."

"I can't…I don't know what to focus on," Harry said, his tone quiet and frustrated.

Draco smiled, kissing the top of Harry's head.

"Just think about carrots."

* * *

><p>That next morning marked exactly three weeks since Draco had escaped with Harry.<p>

Each wasn't sure if the other noticed, or remembered, but they both noted it silently and with a sort of awe.

More important than a trivial anniversary, however, was the pressing manner of going into the heart of Wizarding England (well, short of the Ministry) and then directly into the sketchiest part of it: Knockturn Alley.

Harry, by now well used to these sorts of things, went through the first half of the day with a routine into-the-fray state of mind and manner.

Draco, however, was busy trying not to let Harry see how nervous he was—he was dreading Gringotts now more than ever.

The afternoon arrived much too quickly for both of them, and Draco's limbs felt tingly and tense as he listened to Griphook reiterate their instructions and directions.

Harry was nodding like he was trying to commit every word to memory, often repeating words or names back to check the accuracy. Draco relaxed a bit watching him, confident in Harry's ability to pull these things off well.

Most of the time.

"I guess we should get going," Harry said, coming over to stand next to Draco.

Griphook nodded from his seat at the kitchen table.

"And once you are through the Leaky Cauldron, where do you head first?"

"The pathway behind Borgin and Burkes'. We should encounter the least amount of people that way." Harry replied.

Griphook nodded again.

"Get on with your Glamour charms and go."

Draco took out his wand at Griphook's instruction, turning to Harry and studying his features as Griphook exited silently.

"And you're sure you know how to do this?" Harry asked, laughing uneasily.

Draco shook his head in mock disappointment. "How little faith you have in me."

He walked right up to Harry, touching his hair and nose, lifting his chin and deciding on a course of action.

Harry held his breath and eyed Draco nervously.

"Alright," Draco said finally, "I'm doing your hair first."

Harry held surprisingly still as Draco first lightened the shade to a sort of dry dirt color as opposed to Harry's normal jet-black. He lightened his eyebrows too, grimacing as the effects took place.

He still looked like Harry, but the inelegant hair color didn't exactly suit him. Draco probably would have found it funny in different circumstances, but he hadn't felt like laughing all morning.

"That bad?" Harry ventured, smiling weakly at Draco.

"No," Draco lied quickly. "It's just different. Don't, um, dye your hair this color, though. Ever."

Harry nodded, not seeming to care in the slightest.

"Be still."

"Yes, sir."

Draco lengthened and straightened his hair with a simple holding charm that Harry seemed absolutely fascinated with.

"Eye color next. I'm going with a simple brown," Draco informed him, and Harry shrugged. "Be still."

"Oh my god, shut up."

With Harry's eyes now a fairly nice shade of nut-brown, Draco shortened and rounded his nose, making him resemble a sort of small animal. This time, it actually succeeded in making Draco laugh.

"I'm probably still better looking than you," Harry grinned, and Draco rolled his eyes.

"Whatever, Potter. Hand me your glasses," Draco instructed, and Harry obliged. "I'm going to Transfigure them rather than attempt to fix your eyesight even temporarily."

"You know how to do that?"

"Well, no, that's why I'm not going to try and do it."

"You have quite the attitude when you're nervous," Harry observed, without a trace of irritation.

"I'm not nervous," Draco defended himself immediately.

"Of course not."

"I'm not!"

"We'll be fine," Harry told him, taking his now square glasses from Draco's hands.

"Yeah."

A moment of silence passed, Draco absently lengthening random strands of Harry's hair.

"You've got to do your Glamour now," Harry said, changing the topic. "Are you sure you can do it by yourself?"

"I promise you that I'm fully capable of everything this requires," Draco snapped, and Harry sighed.

"Okay, fine. I'll fix our clothes, and leave you to it."

Draco nodded, pushing down the guilt he already felt at how he was behaving. Now was not the time for self-analysis: he and Harry both had jobs to do.

He Conjured up a mirror, facing his reflection with a clear mind and a steady hand.

He may not be exactly equipped for dangerous and heroic war missions, but he was well-trained in the face of emotional deceit, even when it was directed at himself.

* * *

><p>Harry didn't recognize Draco at first, his mind so consumed with thoughts of the temperamental blond that his hand jumped immediately to his wand at the sight of the dark haired and bearded man that walked into their room.<p>

"Holy _fuck_, Draco, what did you do?" he exclaimed, even though he knew the question was a stupid one.

Draco rolled his eyes. "It's not permanent," he answered. "I know it looks bad, but I'm not trying to win any contests here."

Harry realized with a touch of amusement that Draco was actually self-conscious about his new appearance, his lips pouting and eyes shifting from Harry to the floor.

"I'm just not used to it," Harry assured him, picking the newly-Transfigured clothing off of the bed. "I bet you'd certainly win affections somewhere in the north of Russia."

Draco snorted.

"Perhaps a Durmstrang Professor?"

"You're ridiculous."

"Snape's father, then."

"Potter!"

Harry laughed, throwing Draco some clothes.

"We need to decide on names," he said, as they both began to undress.

"I'll call you…Smith," Draco shrugged.

"Alright, and you can be Vladimir."

"Potter."

"Fine! You can be…Joe…Joseph," Harry decided.

"Alright, Smith and Joseph." Draco nodded.

"Partners in Crime," Harry added, winking. He turned away again when he saw the anxious grimace Draco gave him in response.

Draco cleared his throat, his heart beating faster. "So. We're ready?"

"I think so," Harry replied, stuffing Hermione's purse and his wand into his back pocket. He walked over to stand beside Draco, who silently offered his arm.

"Wait," Harry said, and Draco turned his head in inquiry to see Harry land a gentle kiss on his cheek.

Draco tensed immediately at the contact, but finally gave in to his mind telling him to relax and let himself smile at Harry, no holds barred.

Harry grinned back, then cleared his throat and shook his head.

"You can't look at me like that, it's throwing me off!"

"What, the beard?"

"The beard is the least of my concerns. I mean, it's not great, but I meant that we can't walk down Knockturn Alley giggling and swinging hands," Harry reasoned, and Draco sighed in acquiescence.

"Alright, I see your point," he replied, nodding and putting on his intimidating mask of no emotion. He stuck out his hand. "Well, I look forward to working with you, Smith."

Harry took it, unsmiling. "And I you, Joseph."

Draco offered his arm once more Harry took it formally, both of them Disapparating with a crack.

* * *

><p>They appeared in another alleyway beside the boarded-up shop they knew was The Leaky Cauldron, both of them looking around furtively to see if they had alarmed any Muggle passerby. Other than scaring a stray cat, however, they appeared to have done no harm.<p>

Harry and Draco both took off their cloaks (previously two of Harry's shirts) and slung them over their arm, having agreed to blend in as well as possible until they were among wizarding kind again.

They walked out of the alleyway together, looking and feeling uncomfortable as they surveyed the random London street.

They were getting strange looks from passerby, probably regarding their dismal surroundings in contrast with their old-fashioned formal attire, but neither of them paid them any mind. They were too busy staring at the morose scene in front of them.

Though it could not compare with the damage evident in the Wizarding world, it was all too easy to see the tendrils of Voldemort's reign seeping into his helpless targets. Even the weather was drab and dark in a way that seemed entirely too fitting to be purely coincidental, but the haggard-looking Muggles barely even glanced up at the ominous sky, quickly passing each other as though they were well-used to all of it and afraid to stop and stand still for more than a second.

The buildings looked empty and the stores looked sad in a way that seemed as though the entire country was in a depression, more businesses than there should be seemingly closed or abandoned.

And all of them had no idea the cause of their misery—that was the side of the whole thing that was the most saddening. None of these people had a personal Satan they could blame for shitty weather—not even the Prime Minister could control that. They had no World War or dictator that they knew to fight against, no one that could possibly be responsible for this despair.

"We've got to keep going," Harry heard Draco whisper at his side, and he nodded in response, trying to clear his head.

"It's horrible, isn't it?" he muttered to Draco as they walked up to the beaten and wooden door of the shop.

Draco looked at him sadly. "You haven't seen Diagon Alley yet, have you?"

"I saw it sixth year before school started," Harry responded, the memory still strong in his mind.

Draco's face turned grim. "I saw it a month ago," he replied, and pushed the door open.

The din of hushed and dull conversation gradually silenced as Harry and Draco were spotted. Even though the Glamour did well to hide their identity, there was a moment of heart-stopping terror as they both waited for someone to recognize them.

The only glances they met, however, were ones of confusion and vague suspicion, what Harry supposed was a normal response to the presence of strangers in such dark times.

"Can I help you gentlemen?" Tom the barman asked loudly, in a tone that clearly stated that he was the one in charge here. The "who the fuck are you" question was hidden within his polite words as well, and Harry got the hint immediately.

"Are you the owner here?" Harry asked, using every intimidation tactic he knew. He lifted his chain and straightened his posture, catching Draco's almost unperceivable nod of approval out of the corner of his eye.

"I am," Tom affirmed, coming out from behind the bar and walking between the tables. The entire pub was still watching the exchange with caution and interest.

"We're just looking for passage through to Diagon Alley," Draco told him, gesturing to the back of the pub.

Tom looked them both up and down. "Who are you?" he finally asked, a bit gruffly.

"My name is Joseph. Joeseph Alastar," Draco replied, sticking out his hand.

"Call me Smith," Harry added. "Lyell Smith, but everyone just says Smith."

"You don't seem like you're local," Tom observed.

Harry glanced around at Draco, not sure of what answer to give.

Draco drew himself up and put on his haughtiest expression, one Harry hadn't the pleasure of seeing for a long time.

"My colleague and I might take offense to that," he responded coldly, and Harry hastily turned his gaze back on to Tom, trying to look perhaps offended.

A flicker of worry seemed to pass over Tom's face before he recovered his composure, bowing his head stiffly but politely.

"My apologies to the both of you."

"Coincidentally," Draco continued, in the same cool tone, "My partner and I happen to be visiting from the North. We have business in Diagon Alley, I hope you'll excuse us?"

Tom looked them both over again as Harry, Draco and the pub waited for his response.

"Of course," he allowed finally, stepping aside. Draco stalked ahead and Harry hurried to his side. "Welcome to Diagon Alley," he called after them, a touch of sarcasm evident in his voice.

Harry and Draco reached the room behind the pub that was utterly devoid of anything but the door and the expanse of brick that they both recognized as the entranceway into main Wizarding street.

Draco drew his wand and looked at Harry, eyebrows raised.

Harry nodded, giving Draco a reassuring smile as he turned back to the wall.

Draco tapped out the pattern then stood back next to Harry as the bricks began moving, turning and disappearing to reveal the once-bright entrance of Diagon Alley.

Harry sucked in a breath at the sight of it.

He remembered the last time he had used this entrance, right before his third year of school. How he was immediately struck with the bright colors, smiling children, worried mothers and shouts of venders on the side of the road, now all turned to gray ghosts of their former selves.

No vender with brightly colored sweets dared set up shop—only seedy and dirty looking men reminiscent of Mundungus Fletcher crowded close to buildings, leering at passing women and children, shaking bags of unknown content in their faces.

Hardly any children were out, either, Harry noticed, as they stepped into the ashy cobbled street. The passerby consisted mainly of women accompanied by either a man or another woman, looking fearfully at any other man who looked at them for longer than a few moments, and hurried from one place to another as fast as they could.

Harry remembered the saddened and scared population that still frequented Diagon Alley just a year ago, but he was shocked at how drastically things had degenerated. It seemed there were no original shops remaining—even Flourish and Blotts seemed to be different now, under a different name and selling what looked like war propaganda in media with gruesome covers.

"I know," Draco said quietly, and Harry jumped as he remembered his presence. "I know it's bad, but we've got to keep moving. We can't just stare."

Harry swallowed and nodded, stepping into place beside Draco as they hurried down the road to Knockturn Alley, trying to get to the pathway Griphook told them about.

All of a sudden, they heard shouting coming up the street from them, the sound like a bomb going off in the dark silence that had previously lain on the area. Harry and Draco whirled around to see three men hurrying quickly down the main road, glaring at terrified citizens, wands drawn.

"WHERE IS HE?" one demanded from a young woman, whose male companion immediately stepped to her aid.

"Leave off my sister," he responded hotly, and his sister tugged him back.

"George, _no_," she pleaded, pulling him back from the men.

"Listen to your sister, filth," the man spat. George stepped back, looking mutinous and not letting go of his sister.

Harry looked at Draco in alarm. Draco shook his head in response, though he looked uncertain.

"It can't be us," he whispered. "Probably someone they were already chasing—a Muggle-born or something."

"Let's keep walking," Harry suggested, turning away from the men, who had moved on from harassing George and his sister.

He glanced over his shoulder once and was alarmed to see the group coming their way.

"_Draco_," he hissed, and Draco glanced over his shoulder as well.

"Shit," he whispered, and grabbed Harry's arm. "Trust me on this next part, okay?"

Harry nodded wordlessly and let himself be pulled into a shadowy corner right outside of Knockturn Alley, Draco pressing him immediately against a wall.

"Wha—" Harry tried to ask before Draco descended on him, the now scratchy mouth attacking his.

Harry froze, shocked for a second before he realized what Draco was doing.

He kissed him back just as fervidly, both of them straining to hear what the group of men advancing on them were doing.

Harry's hand snaked down to the wand in his back pocket as Draco moved in closer, shielding his body from view.

"Not on the fucking _street_," they heard the same man protest loudly, this time from about ten feet away. The comment was obviously directed towards them and Harry's mind clouded with tension as he twined a hand in Draco's not-Draco hair to let the men know that they weren't stopping for them.

Hopefully it would work.

"Let's get out of here, leave the fucking poofs to themselves," another one suggested, amidst sounds of disgust.

"Fine," the apparent leader replied, and Harry and Draco pulled back when they heard the footsteps retreating back to the main street.

"Oh thank God," Harry whispered, not daring to move away until the group of men were completely out of sight.

"That was lucky," Draco agreed, stepping back from Harry.

"Draco?"

"Hm?"

Harry rubbed the side of his jaw. "Don't…grow a beard," he said simply.

Draco laughed. "I don't like it either."

"Alright, we've got to hurry now, we're losing time," Harry urged, taking off again at a brisk pace. "No more kissing me."

"If that's how you feel," Draco sighed, winking at Harry.

"Don't wink either!"

"Alright!"

They walked along down Knockturn Alley, finding it all too easy to retain a somber composure amongst the dark and grimy atmosphere.

Reaching Borgin and Burkes, they made sure no one was following them and ducked around the side of it, Harry holding his breath until they came to the secret pathway.

"It's here," Draco observed, sounding surprised.

"Did you doubt him?" Harry asked, looking around them once more for anyone suspicious.

"Well, yes, I did."

"Sometimes you just have to trust people," Harry replied, flashing a quick smile at his companion.

"I suppose," Draco replied, pretending not to notice the duality of Harry's comment.

They walked on in silence, regaining their business-like exterior in case they ran into anyone unexpectedly.

"He said it was the last shop at the end of this road," Harry said eventually, pointing to a shack-looking place that marked the end of their pathway.

"Should we go back around to the front?" Draco asked, and Harry nodded.

They slipped discreetly around a nameless and boarded-up shop on their left and Harry immediately felt more exposed.

They seemed to still be alone in their endeavor, no one appearing to be anywhere around to see them.

"Our luck holds," Draco muttered.

Harry stepped closer to the Potions shop, glancing up at the sign.

"_Clearwater Potions_," he read, raising his eyebrows. "Doesn't seem like the kind of shop to belong in Knockturn Alley."

"Well, it's still a front for an illegal potions trade," Draco replied, inspecting the outside of the building. "I don't imagine it's supposed to arouse suspicion."

"But Clearwater—as in Penelope Clearwater? Ravenclaw?" Harry asked, unable to fit a potions dealer to the perfect and prim Penelope he often used to see around Hogwarts.

Draco shrugged. "Let's just go inside, get this over with," he replied, stepping past Harry with resolution.

"Alright," Harry exhaled, and followed him.

He stood behind Draco as Draco turned the slightly grimy doorknob, pushing the door open with some difficulty. They found themselves in a dark, dusty and cluttered room, two rays of light streaming in from opposite and high windows on the wall. The rest of the room was illuminated by a small number of candles, placed strategically on shelves and on top of books, their flickering light ominous rather than warm.

There were cauldrons and vials on shelves lining the walls, all neatly labeled and clean. Harry couldn't see any price tags on any of the items—they seemed to be entirely for show.

At the back of the room there was a door, slightly ajar and beyond what seemed to be a checkout counter.

They also still seemed to be alone. Was the entire shop empty?

Harry glanced at Draco, who looked back and shrugged.

"Gentlemen!"

They both whipped their heads back to face a tall and thin man who had apparently materialized behind the counter. He looked to be about thirty-five to forty years old, with thin brown hair cropped short to his head. His eyes were small and his face sort of dirty, as if he had never accomplished washing all of the dirt off of it.

"Franklin Clearwater?" Harry asked, watching the man hurry around the counter.

The man didn't answer, just surveyed them both in astonishment. He walked uncomfortably close up to Harry, looking him in the eye for what seemed like an unnecessarily long time.

It was strange, but it almost seemed like this man _recognized_ him.

"Er—" Harry stammered, then cleared his throat. He lowered his voice and stood up straighter. "Are you alright?"

"I'm quite fine," the man breathed, then stepped away from Harry. He snapped his head to look at Draco, moving closer to perform the same examination.

"Then, you _are_ Franklin Clearwater?" Draco repeated Harry's earlier question, looking only slightly uncomfortable.

The man stepped back, his expression clearing. "I am," he answered finally, and Harry relaxed slightly.

Then, the man moved as suddenly as if he had been struck. Harry only saw the pale flash of flesh and then the man's wand was drawn, pointing at a spot above Draco—

A sudden _bang_ and there was an enormous cauldron was falling from a shelf and crashing down—

"DRACO!" Harry screamed, launching himself towards Draco. He crashed into him, knocking the breath out of the other, and they both hurtled to the floor, a bit bruised but blessedly safe.

Assured of this, they sat up quickly, remembering where they were. Harry glared at the shopkeeper as Draco stared, horrified, at Harry.

"What the _hell_ was that?" Harry yelled, jumping to his feet and drawing his wand.

"_Smith_," Draco breathed, standing up carefully, "I believe it's our time to leave."

"Tell me," Clearwater spoke, ignoring Draco. "What business does Mr. Harry Potter and Mr. Draco Malfoy have in my shop?"

Harry froze, the hand on his wand tightening.

"Harry Potter? Are you mad?" he asked, heart thudding in his chest, hating how unconvincing he knew he was being. "Have you ever seen a poster of either of them?"

The shopkeeper only smiled, tucking the wand at his side away in his robes. "I'm not going to report you. You're here for help, are you not?"

Harry blinked. "We—"

"You called that man _Draco_," Clearwater explained, one corner of his mouth turning up. "As in _Draco _Malfoy, I assume, known to most likely be traveling with one Harry Potter?"

Harry was silent, completely unsure of what to do. He didn't dare glance at Draco,

"It is in my profession to know a face when I see one," he told them, eyes shining with an edge of mystery Harry still didn't trust. "Even one altered with concealment magic."

He drew his wand out again and waved it in a complicated motion in their general direction, and Harry felt his features shift uncomfortably back into their original position.

Raising a hand to his face, he even felt his glasses restored to normal, the familiar circles resting right where they should.

He looked over at Draco, who he saw with a rush of relief and warmth had also been cleared of his disguise.

"How is it that you know what we want?" Draco asked Clearwater, obviously still highly cautious.

Clearwater laughed. "That I do not know," he replied. "Only that you need something from me."

"We do," Harry said quickly, glancing over at Draco to warn him that they still needed to be civil—Draco was looking more and more like he'd like to jinx Clearwater where he stood. "A potion."

"I assumed as much," Clearwater snorted, nodding around the shop.

"Fair enough," Harry allowed. "We had something specific in mind. A…er, a friend told us that you might have a sort of…modified Polyjuice Potion? To work with…maybe the child of a person?"

"Didn't take any of your father's hair when you ran away from home?" he leered over at Draco, grinning devilishly. Draco's expression hardened.

"Can you do it?" Harry asked, worried for Draco and beginning to feel impatient.

"Oh yes, I can do it. It's my most successful potion," Clearwater informed them. "I'll be right back."

He waltzed away quickly, his grin and fast pace giving him the look of a slightly insane dancer.

"I don't like him," Draco announced as soon as Clearwater disappeared. He glared at the door at the back of the shop as if it had done him personal wrong.

"That's actually fairly evident," Harry replied pointedly, raising his eyebrows at Draco. "Just because he hasn't tried to kill us—"

Draco cleared his throat.

"—well, kill _me_, or even hand us in doesn't guarantee he's going to help us. You've got to put up with people you might not like if we're going to get anywhere," Harry finished, his voice dropping to a whisper as he eyed Clearwater coming out of the back room, holding a dusty vial of potion.

"Not conspiring to kill me, then, are you?" he called, smiling at them both.

"No," Harry and Draco both replied quickly, and Harry cringed.

Clearwater only grinned as he approached them, holding up the bottle to the dim light in the shop.

"This is what you want," he told him, his voice suddenly hushed. "Am I correct in the assumption that young Mr. Malfoy would like to resemble his father?"

"As closely as possible," Draco specified, forcing his lips into a smile.

"I assure you, it will be an exact copy," Clearwater promised, shaking his arms free of his cloak and drawing his wand with a rather unnecessary touch of dramatics.

Draco watched him nervously, and Harry remembered his earlier question to Griphook.

"How does this all work?" he asked, nodding at Draco and the vial. "Does it have anything to do with…Muggle science? Biology? Is that even possible?"

Clearwater paused, surveying Harry again with surprise and interest.

"Perhaps there _is_ some intelligence mixed in with your dumb luck, Mister Potter," he said approvingly, and Draco snorted.

"There's an evil magical dictator with a personal vengeance against me," Harry deadpanned. "I've never been able to count on 'dumb luck'."

He saw Draco's eyebrows raise slightly and his lips tug up into a smirk. Harry winked at him before glancing back at Clearwater, who was looking at him with even more interest.

"Indeed," he agreed vaguely, before looking back to the vial. "My parents are both Muggles. They're geneticists, actually—er, that's the study of resemblance between family members, things of that nature, Mr. Malfoy—and they are the reason for my expertise in this tragically under-studied field."

"What field would that be?" Harry asked.

Clearwater leaned in closer to Harry, even though he was still the same distance away. "Mixing science with magic," he whispered, grinning.

"What?" Draco spoke, brow furrowing.

"You see, Mr. Malfoy, magic and wizards have been around for a lot longer than the study of science. Wizards figured out how to cast a spell that makes something explode long before Muggles figured out how to split an atom," he explained, depositing the vial in Draco's hands and manually curling his fingers around the glass. "Magic was born with this planet—but so were the laws of physics. So was the science of gravity—it just took longer for a certain group of people to write the latter down."

Harry smiled at Clearwater's enthusiasm, reminded irresistibly of Hermione. He felt a pang of guilt and sadness to know how much she would have loved to hear this.

"Magic and science have been kept apart for far too long." Clearwater nodded resolutely, as if coming to this conclusion for the first time. "People with one have no real want for the other, thinking it useless. Who needs a Flying Spell when you know how to build a plane? Who needs to understand the law of inertia when you have a spell that can cancel its effects?"

Harry glanced at Draco, who was staring at Clearwater with an almost unreadable expression. Harry wouldn't have known what to make of it if it hadn't been for the awe he saw in the blond's eyes.

Perhaps he wasn't the only one benefitting from this.

"So that's what I'm doing!" Clearwater declared, smiling again and pointing to Draco's hand, still raised and closed tightly around the potion. "That potion, for example, contains elements and a spell that mixes genetics with the properties of the Polyjuice Potion. All I have to do is this."

He pointed his wand at Draco's hand and whispered something unintelligible. Harry looked back at Draco's hand to see the vial glow, the light shining through the gaps in Draco's fingers.

"Is this going to hurt?" Draco asked, startled.

"It shouldn't," Clearwater replied.

Draco nodded, seeming unconvinced. He gasped as the light began to spread through his veins, making his arm glow a sort of pale yellow color before it vanished completely, the vial returning to normal and his arm no longer luminescent. Draco twisted his arm around, inspecting it with wide eyes, as if checking to make sure no small patches remained lit.

"There," Clearwater broke the awe-struck silence with a satisfied whisper. He cleared his throat and nodded at Draco's hand. "When you drink that, you should immediately gain the form of Lucius Malf—"

Clearwater was cut short by a loud _bang _from the front door. Harry and Draco whirled around immediately, hands flying to wands as the door received another blow and gave way.

"I KNOW YOU HAVE—" The leader of the group of men stormed in, stopping short at the sight of two wands pointed at him, his mouth falling open at the sight of who was holding them.

"The Dark Lord was right, you two _are_ daft," the man breathed, an evil grin curdling on his face. "Coming here, even with that spell on you?"

"What spell?" Harry demanded, stepping closer and pointing his wand at the man's neck.

"_Stupid_ Potter," the man wheezed, his eyes darting from the wand to Harry's eyes. "Too arrogant to think that you could be tracked down with a simple Apparation Recognition spell."

He laughed, cruel and booming, and Harry heard Draco swear next to him.

"We know the _second_ you step foot in Diagon Alley," the man leered, leaning over Harry so the tip of his wand pressed even further into his throat.

He lunged forward suddenly, knocking Harry's arm out of the way with a brutish swing.

Harry felt a flash of pain in his elbow before his reflexes kicked in, darting around the arms trying to cage him in. He rushed towards Draco as three other men came running into the shop, spells flying.

"GO!"

Harry's looked back to see Clearwater fighting off one man, waving his arm frantically at Harry and Draco. "GO, GO!"

_"Avada Keda—"_

_"Stupefy!" _Harry shot a red jet of light at the man aiming to kill Clearwater, watching the shopkeeper fly over his stiff body to hold back two more invaders.

Men lay on the ground, Stunned or otherwise by Clearwater's hand, but Draco was fighting off two as Harry turned back to him, firing a spell at one of them that was easily blocked.

These two remaining were obviously the most skilled of the group, and one engaged Harry while the other one kept at Draco.

"We're s'posed to bring in Potter alive," Draco's challenger hissed, firing a blue crack of what seemed like lightning at Draco. "'e didn't give us the same direction fer _you_."

Harry's concentration broke for a second as he whipped around to face Draco's attacker, a spell on his tongue as he was hit with what felt like a whip across his chest.

He yelled and dropped to the floor as the pain slashed and encircled around his body, cutting into his skin. He gasped for breath as what he know realized were ropes moved away from his throat.

"RUN, DRACO!" he screamed, thrashing against the binding forces that were tightening around his body.

Predictably, Draco didn't run.

What Draco _did _do astounded him even more than if he had.

As Harry's captor closed in on Draco from a different angle, the Slytherin shot a spell of what seemed to be black powder out of his wand.

It expanded in the air, causing a split-second smokescreen between him and the two assailants.

Then—

_"Avada Kedavra!"_

Harry froze in astonishment as he saw the jet of green light penetrate through the smoke and hit Draco's attacker in the chest. He barely made a sound as he was thrown back, falling to the ground with a sickening thud.

"Oh, god, Draco," Harry breathed, his mind slowing down.

The other man ran from Draco back to Harry, his eyes wide with panic as he tried to grab hold of one of Harry's limbs. His reach was halfway to Harry's arm before Draco struck again.

"_Avada Kedavra!"_

The man was blasted away from Harry and thrown to the ground, sprawled out over the dusty wood, completely still.

Everything was quiet then, save for the heavy breathing of both Harry and Draco. Harry's bonds dissolved into the air as the spell no longer recognized a caster, leaving him free but still bloody.

"Harry," Draco breathed, rushing over to him and dropping to his knees beside him.

"You killed them," Harry said, still having trouble processing the information. "You actually _killed_ them."

"Well, they weren't exactly welcoming us to the neighborhood," Draco replied darkly. His face changed from anger to worry as he looked over Harry again, placing a hand on his neck and arm. "They hurt you."

"People do that a lot."

Draco blinked. "Are you…mad at me?"

Harry breathed out, trying to clear his head. He sat up slowly, with the assist of Draco.

"No," he answered slowly, sorting through the fading rush of adrenaline and fear. "I don't think so."

"You need to leave."

They both jumped at the wheezing voice, eyes snapping over to where the forgotten Clearwater sat slumped against a wall, head bowed and breathing deeply.

Harry staggered up to his feet and rushed with Draco to Clearwater's side.

"I'll be fine," the shopkeeper assured them. "You have the potion?"

Draco nodded, withdrawing the vial from his pocket.

Clearwater closed his eyes. "Good. Go. The authorities will be here soon."

Harry hesitated, the indecision clear on both his and Draco's face.

"_Go!_"

"Right," Harry nodded, shaking his head and grabbing Draco's hand. "Thank you, Mr. Clearwater."

"I wish you all the best dumb luck," Clearwater replied, nodding solemnly. "There's an Apparation point just outside the shop, but you can't do it in here. _Hurry_, now!"

Harry and Draco both turned and fled, running into the back of the shop and out the door they found in the very back of that room, soon finding themselves deposited into a space about three feet wide in between the back of the shop and a concrete wall.

"Are you alright?" Draco asked anxiously, taking Harry by the shoulders and running his eyes down his body. "Merlin, you're bleeding _everywhere—"_

"I'm fine," Harry replied. "We've got to go."

"It's one quick spell to heal you," Draco insisted, drawing his wand and murmuring something, quickly running it down the length of Harry's body.

Harry felt the cuts close themselves, stopping the thin flow of blood from every one of them. The pain was dulled significantly as a result, the relief of it surprising Harry, as he hadn't remembered them hurting that much at all.

"That's better," Draco nodded at his work, looking satisfied.

"Thanks," he said, grabbing Draco and hugging him tightly on an impulse.

Draco breathed out in relief.

Shouting from the distance broke them apart, startling them both back into reality.

"To the alleyway?" Harry asked, not letting go of Draco's hand.

Draco nodded.

* * *

><p>The sight of the grimy Amsterdam alleyway had never been more comforting.<p>

They staggered forward, astounded at their success, but a sudden cry and sight of another presence stopped them both short.

"_There_ you are, we've been waiting for _hours_!"

Harry stepped forward, hardly daring to believe what was happening. He heard Draco's intake of breath and saw his step back in his periphery vision, concern for him flying in and out of his mind.

"God, you're _covered _in blood!"

"Alright then, mate?"

Harry looked at both of them, mouth open and a confusing assailment of emotions flooding his mind.

"_Ron? Hermione?_"


	9. Chapter 9

The tea was actually helping, much to Harry's surprise. He had forgotten how well Hermione could make it.

The cooked leaves and boiling water could not, however, dull the surprise and confusion that came with the arrival of both Hermione and Ron, and especially could not cancel out the discomfort and anxiety he could feel rolling off of Draco in waves.

"Tell me where you were." Hermione demanded, after silently handing Draco a cup of reluctantly-made tea. She sat down in front of Harry, her eyes flitting to Draco once more before settling on Harry.

"We were in Knockturn Alley," Harry replied, keeping his eyes on his tea. "We had to get something."

"Knockturn…" Hermione's mouth fell open, and she shook her head in disbelief. "Oh, Harry. Did you even _think_ how _dangerous_ that is?"

"Yes," Harry responded at the same time Ron said "I'm sure they knew what they were doing."

Harry flashed him a grateful smile. Hermione huffed again.

"What did you have to 'get' from Knockturn Alley?"

Harry opened his mouth, but hesitated. He turned towards Draco, ignoring Hermione's immediate intake of breath. Draco looked up at him with vague surprise and shrugged, imperceptible to anyone but Harry. He held his eyes for a moment and then looked away again.

"Er," Harry said finally, turning away from Draco to face a shocked Hermione and a neutral Ron. "Can you…I'm sorry, but I need to talk to Draco. Just…just for a second."

Hermione's eyebrows shot up and Ron exhaled heavily. Harry looked at them both before nodding once.

"Right," he said, standing up. "Um, Draco?"

Draco wordlessly stood and followed him, keeping his eyes on the stone floor.

Harry listened to Draco's footsteps as they walked away from the kitchen.

The arrival of Ron and Hermione had thrown Harry in a completely unexpected way. He had a strange and sudden feeling of dread at the bottom of his stomach, resulting only in making him confused and guilty.

Draco's footsteps quickened to catch up with him. Harry slowed down.

Harry hadn't realized, either, the completely separate world they brought with him. He had years of love and memories and friendship with Ron and Hermione, but the life he had with them contrasted directly with this new world Harry had adapted to.

The world Ron and Hermione hadn't even begun to enter—the one thing Harry loved that his friends just couldn't understand.

Draco's footsteps stopped. Harry turned around.

"Do I have to leave now?" Draco asked, his head bowed and eyes downcast.

Harry stared at him.

He understood immediately, but Draco's question stung him in a way he was sure he hadn't intended it too.

"How could you even say that?" he whispered, stepping closer. Draco's eyes raised guiltily to his. "How can you even think I'd do that to you?"

"They're not in love with me, Harry."

"Well good, that would complicate things!"

Draco sighed, frustrated. He looked around the hallway, long and bright and empty, shaking his head. "They don't want me here."

"They've been here for twenty minutes," Harry pointed out. "They know nothing about what's happened between the time we left and now, three weeks later. You saved our lives, all of us. They have to be willing to give you a second chance."

Draco looked at him for a moment, then his eyes darted somewhere else.

"You have to be nice to them." Harry warned.

Draco made a face.

"I'm serious. You can still be…_yourself_, but you can't be the person that bullied them for years."

"They'll probably still hate me," Draco mumbled, shrugging.

"I thought I'd never like you," Harry confessed, and Draco snorted. He pressed on, trying to make his point clear. "At first, I just thought you'd always a prat that reminded me of Dudley, and then I thought you'd never change. And then when I saw that you maybe _could_…I couldn't sit around and wait for that maybe. You had to show me."

"I rescued you," Draco filled in lamely, nodding like he was listening to an old lecture. "I saved your life, I redeemed myself."

"You showed me you changed," Harry corrected. "That's the most important thing. You stood down everything you thought you believed in, and that's what they really want to see. It's what I wanted to see, from sixth year on, and it's what they would rather. Who would want an enemy over a friend?"

Draco was silent. He looked at Harry, his expression still unsure.

"Show them you can be their friend."

"Their friend," Draco repeated, his tone turning hesitant. "Friend."

"Yeah, they can accept you as a friend. Someone who's on their side…" Harry trailed off, confused, staring at Draco.

The blond seemed to be holding his breath; his chest was lifted and he was avoiding Harry's eye again. His mouth was slightly open, as if he were on the verge of saying something important.

"What is it?" Harry urged, suddenly fearful.

"I don't think we should tell them," Draco replied, his words all separated clearly but still in the same stream of air.

"About…" Harry prompted, his heart sinking as he realized what Draco was getting at.

Draco looked at him regretfully. "I just think they'll be more receptive to…our friendship…if that's all they thought it was."

Harry exhaled.

It made sense. It was logical. Draco was right—they both knew he was. How was Harry supposed to explain that he had fallen for _Draco Malfoy_ in less than a month?

He imagined, for a moment, telling them everything. What would he even say?

_"I know we haven't gotten on well in the past, but I honestly quite love Draco Malfoy now and only partially because he's a bloody fantastic kisser."_

Yeah, Draco was right.

"That makes sense," Harry agreed, pushing past the ominous feeling in his gut. "You're right."

Draco nodded curtly. "We'll need separate rooms."

Harry froze, an inexplicable rush of fear assaulting him for a split second before clearing, leaving him almost winded.

"Of course," he replied, as business-like as he could.

"And Gringotts? Everything you're planning?"

"We have to tell them," Harry replied firmly, mentally shaking himself. "They've always been involved, it wouldn't go over well to cut them out. And we need all the help we can get."

Draco nodded again. He turned away and started walking back, Harry rushing to catch up with him.

"Wait, Harry—" Draco stopped suddenly, before whirling back around.

Harry stopped and raised his eyebrows in answer before Draco was on him in an instant, mouth crashing down on his, arm going around Harry's waist and pulling him in.

Harry responded gratefully as Draco kissed him deeply and desperately. Their tongues twisted together and hands grasped at clothing, at skin, at anything, each trying to get one simple promise out of the other. But it didn't solve anything, and they both knew that. It eased the ache of secrecy and shame, and as the edge of desperation and sadness broke into gentle hands gliding over shoulders, down backs and swollen lips sliding together, Harry felt like it would all be okay.

Everything was always eventually okay.

Draco squeezed his waist once and pulled back, breaking the kiss but not their proximity. He rested his forehead against Harry's, thumb stroking over Harry's cheekbone.

"We'll be fine," he whispered, and Harry nodded, closing his eyes. "It's just a secret."

"A big secret."

"You can handle a big secret, Potter." Harry could hear the smile in Draco's voice.

"Yeah," he replied.

"You can handle me, you can handle this."

Harry snorted, opening his eyes. "What about you?"

"I can handle you, can't I?"

"Hey!" Harry drew back a little to nudge him with his elbow before Draco pulled him back.

"Say you love me," he breathed, his arms coming solidly around Harry.

"I love you," Harry complied honestly, smiling up at him.

Draco smiled too, stepping back away from Harry and breathing deeply.

"Let's go? They've been waiting an awfully long time now."

Harry nodded. "Yeah, let's. Remember—be nice to them. Friendly."

"Right," Draco replied, waiting for Harry to fall into step with him. "I just have to win them over. Easy."

"I was easy."

"I'm actually thinking I'm going to take a slightly _different_ approach than the one I used for you," Draco reasoned, raising his eyebrows at Harry.

Harry grimaced. "Yeah, please don't snog either of them."

Draco laughed. "Not even Weasley?"

"Oh my god!"

* * *

><p>"Hi," Harry said from the doorway.<p>

Granger stood up immediately and Weasley pushed himself off of the counter, both pairs of eyes resting expectantly on Harry and Draco.

On an impulse, Draco raised a hand in a quick greeting, seeing both of them stiffen in response.

_Be nice._

"Have a nice talk?" Granger sniffed, touching the handle of her teacup.

Weasley looked at Harry disapprovingly. They both ignored Draco.

"I'm sorry, Hermione," Harry sighed, and Draco watched him cross to the kitchen table, not taking a seat.

Draco's lips parted.

"We just needed…" he began, and three pairs of eyes snapped immediately to him. _Be their friend_. "We just needed to figure out how to tell you…everything."

The trio stared at him for a moment longer before Granger spoke.

"So you are going to," she clarified, looking at Draco for a second before addressing Harry. "You're going to tell us everything?"

_'Everything' is relative_, Draco thought, leaving the answer to that one up to Harry.

"Of course," Harry replied easily, warmly. Draco knew he really meant that warmth. Was he really ready to lie completely? His eyes rested on Harry as the brunet smiled. "We're going to tell you every logistical detail."

_Beautifully done_. Draco almost smiled.

"So why did you need Griphook?" Weasley asked, folding his arms.

Harry took a breath. "I think—I'm fairly certain, anyway—that I know where the next Horcrux is."

Granger closed her eyes briefly, nodding. "And you need Griphook because…"

"Because I think it's in a Gringotts vault," Harry supplied, his tone grim.

Weasley and Granger exchanged a look.

"That's what we thought it would be," Granger divulged. "But—tell us why? Why are you breaking into Gringotts on…on a whim?"

"It's not just a whim," Draco spoke again before he even thought about it. Granger gasped as if she had forgotten he was there, and Weasley immediately moved to her side. Draco faltered for a moment before he pressed on, walking further into the room. "It's not just a whim."

"What evidence do you have?" Granger snapped, her brown eyes flashing before narrowing.

"I—well," Draco tried, looking to Harry for help.

"Hermione," Harry cautioned.

"Sorry," she said immediately, shaking her head once. "It's hard to—I wasn't there, and I keep—I keep forgetting—I just can't believe it."

Harry sighed, and Weasley touched her shoulder.

"I'm sorry I made it so hard for you to believe," Draco apologized quietly, stepping closer.

Granger considered him only for a second before her eyes dropped to the table.

No one spoke, but the silence that fell was thrumming with uncertainty and tension until Harry sighed again, swiveling in his chair to look at Draco.

"Okay, Draco, sit down. All of you, listen to me."

Draco hesitated for a moment before quickly taking a seat, the angry tone of Harry's voice making the situation clear to all of them. Granger sat up, her eyes widening with worry. Weasley automatically looked guilty, but he stood up straighter as he faced his best friend.

Harry waited until Draco had sat down, his eyes not on any of them, before he finally took a breath.

"There are three things we all know right now for sure," he said, his voice still hard and frustrated. "One of them should be fairly obvious to all of us, I hope, and that is the fact that we're all trying to win a war."

"Harry—" Granger interrupted, her voice placating, but Harry shot her a look that made her quickly close her mouth. She quieted, sitting back and folding her arms.

"The second thing is that we are not going to defeat You-Know-Who by sitting here in a passive-aggressive power struggle," he continued, eyeing Granger and Draco in particular.

They each said nothing.

"Third, Draco saved all our lives," Harry concluded sincerely, his voice softer. "He defied everything he stood for to save me, and to save you. He isn't the person that either of you thought he was, and if we're going to get through all of this together, you need to give him a second chance."

Draco was staring hard at Harry's elbow. He didn't feel like meeting neither Granger nor Weasley's stare, even though he knew they were probably expecting him to.

Here he was again. Another evaluation, more people he'd wronged deciding if he was worth their generous and good redemption, if whether his shitty past self could be understood, whether this broken-down new version of him could be pitied. It was becoming hard to feel grateful.

"I just don't understand," Granger whispered, her eyes wide and confused. "How did _any_ of this even _happen_?"

"I don't get it either, mate," Weasley added grimly, shrugging. "I can't go on…blind faith that Malfoy's all well and good now…er, no offense."

Draco shrugged, arching a brow. "Why would I be offended?" he deadpanned.

Weasley at least had the decency to look sheepish.

"So we'll make you understand," Harry declared. "We'll start from the beginning. We'll tell you everything that happened."

Draco's eyes darted to him.

_Except...?_

Harry met his gaze briefly.

_Except that._

* * *

><p>"<em>Genetics<em>?" Hermione clarified, sounding shocked. "That's…that's _absolutely brilliant!_ I mean, I'd often think about mixing science and magic, or whether the two even crossed—but it never came up in Muggle Studies, and—well, it's just brilliant!"

"So you're gonna look like your father?" Ron asked Draco, his nose wrinkling. "That's unfortunate."

"I'm not exactly looking forward to it," Draco huffed in response, crossing his arms.

"I dunno, I always figured you'd kind of love that," Ron snorted in reply, and Harry inwardly sighed.

"Ron."

"Right. Sorry. Be nice to Malfoy. I forgot," he said scathingly, waving Harry's reprimand away.

Harry glanced at Draco, who was glaring daggers (and knives and broadswords) into the side of Ron's head.

"Ron, you're impossibly stubborn. Listen to Harry, he knows what he's doing," Hermione told him, rolling her eyes apologetically at Harry and flashing Draco a slightly uncomfortable smile.

"Thank you, Granger," Draco said stiffly, and she nodded quickly at him, not meeting his eye.

Harry grimaced. Really, it was the best he could hope for.

Then Hermione took a breath and held it, her mouth slightly open and her eyes darting to Draco once more before she dropped them to her hands in her lap.

Draco blinked, looking nervous.

"You can ask questions, Hermione," Harry prodded gently.

"I don't bite," Draco added, though Ron still looked doubtful.

"Alright," Hermione accepted hesitantly, nodding evenly towards Draco's left arm. "You said…you said they 'took' your Mark from you? What did you mean?"

Draco looked at her for a moment and rubbed his left forearm, where Harry knew he could still feel the ugly scar. He took a breath and looked away as he pushed the Transfigured fabric away from the skin, closing his eyes at Hermione's small gasp.

Harry resisted the urge to comfort him and instead tried to catch his eye, but Draco's still remained shut. Harry had seen the scar many times by now, but he was reminded of its incredible gravity as he watched his friends stare at it, horrified and silent, before Draco retracted his arm.

"I said that they 'took it', but perhaps a more accurate description would be 'burned it off'. Using magic, of course, they never even had to touch me." Draco spoke into the heavy silence, shaking his sleeve back over his skin. "I don't think it's something that can ever be mended, it's just…there now."

"It's a curse scar," Hermione said softly, her eyes moving from Draco to Harry. "You'll never be able to heal it—it's like Harry's, actually."

"It doesn't ever hurt," Draco replied, shaking his head. "Like I said, it's just kind of there."

"Curse scars don't always hurt," Hermione informed him, her tone morphing from piteous to the all-too familiar lecture. "Harry's is fairly unusual in its potency and effects…the majority of curse scars act like yours seems to. They might twinge in certain circumstances, though."

"Poor Malfoy," Ron interrupted loudly, and Hermione glared at him. "How do we know this isn't part of some big _plan _of yours?"

"Oh, _honestly_."

"Ron, he's—"

"Weasley, if I wanted Harry dead, he would be _dead_," Draco snarled, standing up and knocking his chair back.

Harry and Hermione fell silent as if Spelled that way, and Ron froze.

"If this was all some _scheme_, some plot for You-Know-Who to snatch Harry up in the middle of the night, he would have burst down the doors to this house _weeks_ ago." Draco hissed, in the same animalistic and deadly tone. Harry shivered, eyeing his friends and thinking he ought to be a lot more worried than he actually was. "Get it through your head that _I do not want Harry Potter dead_. On the contrary, I want him very much alive, because he may be a git but he's the only really good person I can think of."

Harry flushed and looked down, resisting another urge to fly at Draco.

Ron's face had reddened to, but for what Harry suspected was a vastly different reason than his. He unfolded his arms and leaned slightly over the table.

"The only reason I'm grateful of you is that your weird obsession with Harry has _finally_ worked out in our favor. I'm grateful of you _for once_ and for your sick, perverted fascination with him that you've had for seven _years_," Ron spat, his eyes narrowing. Draco's lips parted and he took a step backwards, his expression vaguely horrified. Harry sucked in a breath, but the noise went unnoticed by Ron and Draco. Hermione looked at him, her eyes panicky.

"You say you can name one good person?" Ron continued, ignoring Harry's glare at Hermione's proddings. "I can name about a hundred. And I care about _every single one_ of them. Not just the one. Until you learn how to do that, until you learn how to fight for what you believe in and for who you love instead of your latest…_whatever_, I can't trust you."

And he left, striding furiously out of the kitchen, Hermione hurrying after him.

"RON! Ron, _stop!_" she tried desperately, her voice carrying down the hall as she chased after him.

Harry was stunned. It wasn't because Ron had gotten mad—he had expected Ron to get mad. He had expected Hermione to get mad, he had expected Draco to get frustrated or angry with them back. He had expected to facilitate it. He had expected to guide them through their confusion.

But _that_? That was beyond confusion. That was unadulterated distrust and disgust, and each word that Ron had said still sat like a stone in Harry's gut.

"That was the most intelligent I've ever heard Weasley sound."

Harry turned towards Draco, who looked sort of astounded as he sat back down at the table.

"You don't believe I actually think any of that, do you?" Harry asked, taking Draco's hands immediately in his. They were shaking slightly, but Harry still found them to be a comfort. "He's acting out, he still doesn't know what he's talking about."

"No, but he's right, isn't he? I don't deserve to fight for this." Draco replied, his head bowing.

"So I hallucinated you rescuing me from my death, then? Hallucinated your Mark getting burned off?"

Draco sighed.

"Listen." Harry pulled him closer, waiting until Draco raised his eyes to his. "You and I both know that you're not fighting this war because of me. You might think you need this whole rite of passage thing, but…if there ever was one, you're through it. What makes you worthy to fight for this cause is the decision to fight for it."

Draco ran a hand through his hair, laughing weakly. "I'm such a prat."

"Yes you are," Harry agreed, ducking forward to kiss his cheek. "And so is Ron."

"And so are you."

"Yes I am."

They sat there in silence as it began to drizzle outside, Draco staring out the window on the far side of the room and Harry staring at Draco's hand, running his fingers along the back of it.

This is what he had gotten used to. This was now his normal.

"I'll talk to Ron later tonight," Harry promised. "Now he's got the introduction, I just have to make it more personal."

"I think I'm going to apologize to Granger tonight, then." Draco answered quietly, his gaze still on the steadily increasing splatter of rain on the glass.

Harry looked up. "For…"

"Everything."

"…Oh."

Draco nodded. "For now…I guess we should separate our rooms?"

Harry stilled.

There it was again: that sickening, paralyzing flash of panic that seized his body for the second time at the mere mention of separating from Draco's _bed_.

He shook himself—he was being ridiculous. There was no need to fear sleeping alone—he could always bunk with Ron and make up some excuse. Ron would understand, he wouldn't say anything. He could try Hermione, but Ron would probably rip his head off.

But he didn't want to do that.

"Yeah, I guess we should."

* * *

><p>Harry looked around his new room, finding it almost exactly the same as every other room in the house. He supposed that was to be expected. Sitting down on the edge of the newly-Conjured bed, he tried to imagine that this is where he had stayed for the past three weeks. This is where he had slept in between days of planning and missing Ron and Hermione and slowly developing a solid friendship with Draco. He blocked the visions of warning from Voldemort from his mind, trying to pretend they didn't happen.<p>

He pretended he hadn't fallen in love, pretended everything was more or less the same as when he had left.

And then he felt empty, so he thought about the future. Assuming he survived this war. Assuming they all did.

And then he felt scared, so he pretended none of this was happening. He pretended his friends didn't hate his boyfriend—or, at least, not because he used to be a member of an organization that actively campaigned for all of their deaths. He pretended that Draco had gotten the chance to grow out of being a prat. He pictured Draco in the library, studying with Hermione as Ron and Harry made fun of them from across the table in the library. He pretended the biggest argument they had was over house-elf liberation.

He pretended that Voldemort didn't exist, that he had died a lonely life working in Borgin and Burkes, that Sirius was alive and had never gone to prison for the murder of his parents, that there was no prophecy, that Dumbledore was his wise and unusual professor still, that he had been allowed to grow up with a family.

He thought about that last even beyond the wall of pain and regret that usually blocked him from it, ignoring the tightening of his throat and tears prickling behind his eyes. He imagined what his father would say when he told him he was friends with Draco Malfoy. He imagined the conversation explaining he was now _dating_ Draco Malfoy.

He imagined his mother would be glad. He imagined she'd be able to look past her misgivings, like Hermione was able to.

What if he had grown up like Ron had, surrounded by people that loved him? Would he have been ready to take chances on people like Draco when he saw he needed it?

"Mate?"

Harry jumped at Ron's voice, his hand flying up to hastily wipe his eyes. "Yeah?"

"You…er, you're alright?" Ron asked hesitantly, wavering in the doorway.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Harry replied, taking a breath of air and waving Ron in.

"Oh, okay," Ron accepted, walking in and sitting down next to Harry. "This is your room?"

Harry nodded, looking around. "Yeah," he replied simply, trying his best not to lie.

Ron nodded too. "Did you just Conjure the bed, or did Hermione pack those too?" he smiled weakly.

Harry laughed, maybe a bit louder than necessary, and patted the bed. "Draco actually did, he's better at that than I am," he replied honestly, eyeing Ron for a response.

Ron stiffened. "Oh. Right," he said.

There was an awkward silence as Harry stared at the floor, trying to think of how to begin.

Ron coughed.

"Look, Ron," Harry began finally, but Ron did not look at him. "I know you don't trust Draco. I know you think his reasons aren't…genuine, but I can tell you that they _are_."

"But why can't you see what this is?" Ron blurted. "You two have always gotten to each other like he hasn't been able to with Ron or Hermione. You followed him around for an entire _year_, and remember him sneaking around in first year?"

"That was six years ago!" Harry protested quickly, Ron's insinuations hitting dangerously close to the truth.

"But Dumbledore was last year, Harry," Ron replied. "And that's not even my point. He's been…obsessed with you for years and the first second he gets a little too scared and daddy's not the most powerful man in the room anymore he runs to who _is_."

"I'm not just some power play to him!" Harry defended hotly, trying to keep his anger from clouding his filter.

"You're _something_. There's something going on, beyond the whole 'changed person' thing he wants us all to believe." Ron insisted, sighing and shaking his head.

_Maybe that's because we're shagging now_, Harry thought unhelpfully. He, of course, did not express this theory out loud.

"You can be suspicious of Malfoy all you want," Harry told him instead. "You can wait and see for yourself if he really has changed. But in order to even try and do that, you have to give him a chance."

Ron sighed. "You sound like Hermione," he mumbled, frowning.

Harry laughed. "And haven't we learned by now to always listen to her?"

Ron grinned as well. "Yeah, I guess we have."

* * *

><p>Draco's hands were shaking as he made his way to what he had been told was Granger's room. Weasley had initially insisted he come along, but Harry had advocated for Draco going alone. Draco was grateful, but he wished in the current moment that he had someone (preferably Harry) with him to comfort him.<p>

He took a deep breath and raised his hand to knock, but before he actually put his hand to the wood, he had to pause, listening intently.

Granger was humming something painfully familiar, the soft soprano of her voice very different from the smooth alto Draco had grown up hearing, but the familiar intimacy of it left him astounded.

Quietly, he pressed his shoulder up against the door and froze as the humming stopped, straining to hear it again.

All he heard was silence, however, and Draco realized she knew someone was there.

Draco stepped back, unsure of what to do. Granger didn't come to the door, or call out, making Draco think she was waiting for an action.

Perhaps he was feeling suddenly poetic with the resurgence of his nostalgia, perhaps he was just amazed to have something in common in with Granger, but Draco suddenly had an idea of his move.

_"Quand il me prend dans ses bras_ _,"_Draco sang hesitantly, his voice just barely loud enough to carry through the door._"Il me parle tout bas…Je vois la vie en rose…"_

He trailed off at the end of the phrase and held his breath, waiting for Granger's response.

There was an immeasurable pause before the door was suddenly thrown open, revealing Granger, wide-eyed and disbelieving.

"_Malfoy_?" she questioned, a bit breathless as she looked him up and down. "How—how do you—"

"Know that song?" he supplied. "My mother used to sing it to me."

"But…that's a Muggle song," she countered, her lips still parted in confusion.

"It's also a Wizarding song," Draco replied. "I didn't actually know it was Muggle."

"You know the French," Granger observed, raising her eyebrows.

Draco shrugged, smiling a bit sheepishly. "It was only ever sung to me in French," he explained.

Granger bit her lip, looking dissatisfied. "I only know the English," she admitted, sounding almost regretful.

Draco fought back the urge to laugh. He smiled pleasantly instead. "Maybe I could teach it to you sometime," he offered unthinkingly, then cursed at the friendliness of it. He saw Granger notice it too, and she looked away uncomfortably.

"Actually," Draco said, taking the opportunity to introduce what he had come here for, "I wanted to talk with you about…me, I suppose. Well, no, that sounds awful, but…well, you'll see?"

Granger paused, looking him over for another minute before stepping aside. "Come in," she allowed, her tone neutral and polite.

"Thank you," Draco replied graciously, walking into the room.

She closed the door behind him, something Draco noted with surprise. Then again, he wasn't entirely sure what he was supposed to glean from that.

He looked around her room as she moved around behind him, surveying the familiar architecture. The only difference was an extra window in this room, and he wondered if this detail was what held the appeal for her.

"What did you want to talk to me about, exactly?" she asked, crossing her arms and regarding him carefully.

"Well," Draco began, not completely sure of how to phrase it. "This is…this is supposed to be a sort of formal apology."

"How sincere," Granger replied, the sarcasm incredibly subtle.

"Well," Draco said again, temporarily disheartened. "I figured I should actually apologize at least once."

Granger reached up and brushed a stray curl out of her face, her eyes never leaving him. "And what are you apologizing for, then?"

Draco laughed without humor, shaking his head. "Pick something."

Granger's eyebrows raised coldly, and he cursed himself again.

"Shit, no, I didn't mean it like that," he corrected himself, squeezing his eyes shut. "I meant…I have seven years of—of—of _shit_ to apologize to you for. And I'm apologizing right now for everything, for every one of them."

"Malfoy, I _know_ you're sorry for all of that," she replied, rolling her eyes, her exterior warming immediately.

Draco paused.

She…she knew.

"You _know_."

"Malfoy, you practically say sorry every time you look at me! I see the regret in your face and I hear it in your words. Everything you've done for us has been an apology of sorts." Granger told him, her voice soft.

Draco blinked, the meaning of her words finally settling in.

"You don't…you're not always going to hate me," he realized, the relief at even this level of understanding throwing him off.

Granger laughed. "No, I'm not. I don't have enough left in me to hate you. I've got a lot of other people to hate. As does Harry, and as does Ron, but Ron still can't see past his schoolboy wounds."

"So you'll give me a second chance?" Draco asked breathlessly, finally daring himself to hope for a positive outcome to this question.

Granger smiled at him. "You're doing very well with the second chance I've already given you," she replied.

He smiled back, out of sheer relief. He hadn't been expecting this sort of civil conversation—he had been well prepared for everything short of bloodshed.

"Thank you," he said simply.

She nodded.

"I think I'll leave you alone now," he spoke again after a second of silence, and Hermione went to open the door.

"Before you go," she said, looking like she was choosing her words carefully, "I'd actually like to thank you for something."

Draco blinked at her.

"Thank you for looking after Harry while we've been gone," she said, and Draco's heart stopped momentarily. _Could she mean-?_

"Before you deny it, I know you have been," she continued, apparently oblivious to Draco's internal panic. "He seems…different. In a good way. I never thought you two could actually become friends, but…I'm glad you did."

"Oh," was all Draco could think to say.

"Anyway," she sighed, "I imagine Harry has already spoken to Ron about you, and I was planning on talking to him as well…but it was good of you to come here."

Draco nodded. "Thanks for listening."

She smiled. "I'd love to learn the French one day."

Perhaps it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world if Hermione knew.

"I talked to Hermione today," Draco said later, his eyes on the windows of the house in front of him. "Like I said I would."

Harry sat beside him in the garden grass, picking at the weeds that were growing all around them and enjoying the coolness that the shade of the setting sun brought them. "I talked to Ron," he offered.

Draco grimaced. "Did that go well?"

Harry shrugged. "Fairly well, I guess. Hermione told me about your talk with her."

"Oh," Draco said, worried again about how much she might have guessed.

Harry smiled, poking at Draco's leg with his foot.

"_Hold me close and hold me fast, this magic spell you cast_," he crooned tunelessly, batting his eyelashes at Draco, who shoved him away.

"You're a horrible singer, Potter," he retorted, and Harry shrugged.

"That's very true," he said.

"I didn't say I minded."

"Well, good."

* * *

><p><em>Give your heart and soul to me<em>

_And life will always be_

_La vie en rose_

_Et dès que je l'aperçois_

_Alors je sens en moi_

_Mon coeur qui bat_


End file.
